


Someday Came Today

by Fatebegins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Humor, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Permanent Injury, Scars, Schmoop, Self-Lubrication, Were-Creatures, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"March 2, 1810. . .<br/>Today, I met the man I’m going to marry."</p><p>At the age of eight, Genim “Stiles” Stilinski showed no signs of Great Beauty. And even at eight, Stiles learned to accept the expectations society held for him--until the evening when Derek Hale, the handsome and dashing Alpha of the Hale pack, solemnly kissed his hand and promised him that one day he would grow into himself, that one day he would be as beautiful as he already was smart. And even at eight, Stiles knew he would love him forever.</p><p>But the years that followed were as cruel to Derek as they were kind to Stiles. Stiles is as intriguing as the Duke boldly predicted on that memorable day--while Derek is a lonely, bitter man, crushed by a devastating loss. But Stiles has never forgotten the truth he set down on paper all those years earlier--and he will not allow the love that is his destiny to slip through his fingers . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Idea taken from the novel, “The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever” by Julia Quinn but as I didn’t even read the book, I’m positive the plot is completely different. Also, hello, they're werewolves.
> 
> This may probably be eventual mpreg, knowing me. Haven't decided yet.

  
Stiles may be the youngest but he’s not stupid. As often as his father coddles him, tries to keep him in the dark; he’s smart enough to know. He's eight years old but he can tell that he’s different. He’s not like his brothers.  Line them up in a row and Stiles is clearly the one that doesn’t belong.  
  
His brothers are beautiful. There’s no other way that Stiles can describe them. He idolizes them, trails after them when the full moon comes and they shifts into Werewolves. Stiles is too little to keep up, so most of the time he just climbs up in a tree, finds an overlook to  watch them tussle and fight, chase after one another.  
  
The best times are when Mattie comes along, he’ll pick Stiles up by the scruff , wrestle with him and take him swimming in the creek. Matthew is the oldest, he’s an alpha and he’s almost twenty years old. Stiles thinks he’s a knight come to life, tall and dark, hair like a raven’s wing.  He’s also strong, strong enough to carry Stiles home when he gets too tired after playing.  Matthew is getting mated today, to a nice beta named Claire, she smells nice and has pretty hair.  Stiles thinks that if he could remember his mother she would be like  Claire.  
  
As warm as Mattie is, Jackson is the complete opposite. He doesn’t have much patience for Stiles or his questions. Jackson is sixteen but he already commands the attention of the entire room. He’s tall and lithe, sleek and beautiful where Stiles is small and scrawny. He has dark blond hair and jewel toned eyes. Stiles’ eyes are plain and brown.  
  
Taylor is a year younger than Jackson, quiet and kind but he’s like Jackson in his fair hair and coloring.  Stiles thinks Taylor looks like a painting in a museum. His disposition makes him even more admirable. He takes the time to help Stiles with his studies, brings him oil paints and holds his hand steady to the parchment.  
  
People are always saying how beautiful the Stilinski boys are. They say Matthew is handsome,  they gush about Jackson’s eyes and Taylor’s angelic disposition. But no one says anything like that about him. More often they say he’s smart, but not in a nice way. In a ‘well, at least he has a good head on his shoulders’ way. Stiles has spent the entire night being ignored and hearing comments about how plain he is. The rest of the cubs, most of them from the neighboring packs, feel the same. No one wants to play with him, so Stiles spends the night trailing after his brothers.  
  
It’s not fair that Stiles looks the way he does, crueler still that he’s forced to stand next to three paradigms. Because as young as he is Stiles knows, he knows how it feels to have peoples eyes skip over him as if he doesn‘t matter.  
  
Stiles has always known he was different, ugly and dull, but he never knew why. Until today. Wiping bitterly at his wet cheeks, Stiles tries not to think back to what Jackson said.  
  
_You’re not my brother! My father married a mate less beta with a cub because he pitied her. After she died, he pitied you. That’s the only reason why he keeps you around._  
  
The words had shaken Stiles to the core. He never thought that there was an actual, logical reason why he was different. He had held on to the hope that one day, even if he was never as special as his brothers, he would grow to at least find a suitable mate.  
  
That would never happen now. No one would ever want a small, brown mutt for a mate.  
  
Unnoticed, Stiles had slipped away upstairs to his bedroom to cry where Jackson couldn’t see. He’s being a baby, he knows he is, but he can’t help it. His chest aches and he really, really wishes he hadn’t gotten Jackson mad enough to yell those horrible things.  
  
There’s a knock on the door and Stiles scrambles under the bed, curls into a ball when the it creaks open slowly. It’s probably Matthew, coming to see to him. He doesn’t want to ruin his brother’s day; he’s already ruined so much.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
It’s not Mattie, Stiles knows that as soon as the Were steps into the room. The scent is different, like pine and sea air. Stiles thinks he’d be happy to smell it all day. Of all of Mattie’s friends Derek Hale is his favorite. It’s not just because he’s nice and brings Stiles candy, it’s because when he tells Jackson to shut up, Jackson actually does and he doesn’t listen to anyone. Sometimes not even to Daddy.

  
“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is soft and gentle. “I know you’re in here.”  
  
Tentatively,  Stiles peeks out from beneath the bed, he’s got dust all over his clothes and in his hair. Derek is dressed formally in a black tuxedo. His shoes are polished, gleaming in the low light. Derek is the only one that can pry attention from Jackson, people like him much more because unlike Jackson, Derek is a kind alpha.  
  
“Come on; out.” Derek sits down on the bed, pats the empty space next to him. “I want to talk to you.”  
  
Stiles crawls out slowly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Derek lifts him up on to his knee and Stiles wants to yell that he’s not a child but he feels too sad to protest.  
  
“I overheard what Jackson said.” Derek says carefully, and Stiles‘ cheeks go red. “He shouldn’t have told you those things, no matter how angry he was that you broke his vase.”  
  
“Is it…” Hope springs up in him. Derek is old, older than Jackson and he would know. “Is it true? Papa isn’t my Papa and I have a different Mommy?”  
  
Derek looks pained, squeezes his shoulder. “It’s true but that doesn‘t make you any less a part of your family.”  
  
“I knew it.” Stiles shudders, eyes welling up again no matter how hard he tries. “I knew I was too ugly an’ scrawny and --”  
  
“Quiet." Derek growls fiercely. “You’re not ugly or scrawny. You’re little, but that’s normal because you’re just a puppy.”  
  
Stiles shakes his head. “I’m always going to look like this. I won’t be able to find a mate and Papa will be miserable and burdened by me.”  
  
“Look at me,” Derek instructs and when Stiles does, he wipes his tears away gently with his thumbs. “I promise you that when you get older, you’re going to be just as beautiful as you are smart. You’ll be fighting potential mates off with a stick.”  
  
“As beautiful as Jackson, Mattie and Taylor?”  
  
“Even more so.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
***  
  
Later on that evening, when the guests have departed and everyone has gone to bed, Stiles’ father comes into his room, face lined and tense. Stiles expected him, had heard his Dad yelling at Jackson for the past fifteen minutes. That argument had ended with Jackson storming off, and Stiles feels bad for causing so much trouble.  
  
“You okay, kiddo?” John Stilinski looks awkward, hangs near the doorway. “Derek told me about what happened with your brother. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he loves you, he’s just hot headed.”  
  
Stiles nods and his father gives him a sad smile. Stiles thinks that this is one of those moments that he’ll always remember.  
  
“About what Jackson said--”  
  
“It’s okay, Daddy.”  
  
“It is?” John sits down heavily on the bed and Stiles realizes that his father is sad as well. His scent is off, bitter with anxiety and Stiles really wants to hug him so he does.  
  
“You’re still my Daddy.”  
  
John holds him tight and the scent of salt fills the air just as dampness hits his cheek. “I want you to know, I loved your mother, she was a great woman, no matter what anyone said. And you, you remind me of her every day. How could I not love you as well?”  
  
“I love you too, Dad.”  
  
After a few moments, John rises to his feet and affectionately ruffles Stiles’ hair. “Shall I turn down the lantern? ”  
  
“No.” Stiles pulls out his journal, “I’m going to do my math exercises.”  
  
“Alright clever pants, don’t stay up too late.”  
  
His father shuts the door and Stiles grabs a pencil.  His thoughts keep retiring back to earlier in the evening. If Stiles has to find a mate, he’d like for it to be Derek. He’s as nice as Matt, gentle like Taylor and he‘s very strong. Stiles doesn’t think he’d ever be mean to him the way the packs within the capital are.  
  
Carefully, Stiles writes in his journal. “March 2, 1810. . .Today, I met the man I’m going to marry."  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The poem James recites is Lord Byron’s entitled, “She Walks In Beauty” from 1814, it’s my favorite and I wanted it to be recited by a suitor because it’s what I’ve always thought was the epitome of romance. Clearly, I’ve changed the gender pronoun to ‘he’ as well.
> 
> Also, I'm sure this won't be extremely accurate of the times, I've tried but I'm not going to heavily research. This story is fun, not homework. All my knowledge of the 1800s comes from reading romance books. If you see a glaring mistake, please let me know :)

**Ten Years Later…**  
  
News of the Northern War’s end spreads quickly throughout Stiles’ community. The War has been raging on for over four years. No one knew where the Argents had come from but they were the most brutal race of humans to invade the King‘s land in centuries. The Argents attacked adult and child alike, determined to wipe Weres from the earth. The territory that Derek's pack controls borders the Polaris Sea and the Argents entered from the Northwest utilizing the swift waters as deadly highways to carry out their assaults. Derek’s people shouldered the brunt of the battles and sustained numerous casualties. It was not long before the Alpha Major’s other territories began to report attacks, and by the time Derek sent for reinforcements, the other Dukes, Viscounts and Earls were under siege. Every available trained alpha was called North, and Stiles’ brothers were no exception.  Only his father was spared military duty.  
  
The day Matthew, Taylor and Jackson saddled their horses and left will forever  be branded in Stiles’ memory.  It’s the only time he’d seen Jackson look anything but sure, they’d all looked like boys playing dress up more than armed fighting men. He’d been terrified that it was the last image of his brothers he would have.  
  
It has been four years.  
  
48 months of hearing nothing but tales of death and horror.  
  
53 full moons that Stiles spent alone, curled up at the overlook with nothing but his thoughts for company.  He imagined Derek, somewhere far away, beneath the same sky, wondered if the alpha ever  thought of the scrawny boy who worshipped him.  
  
Midday, the Alpha Major’s runner reaches the Capitol  and  proclaims the news that all have awaited: the war has ended and their families will be returning home. All can rejoice with certainty. By evening, the alpha of the territory, Beaufort, summons them to his banquet hall. The wine flows freely and to Stiles’ surprise his father extends a goblet to him.  Nothing has ever tasted so sweet.  
  
***  
  
Four weeks later, the  ships begin to arrive. Stiles is standing at the crowded dock with the rest of the pack, vying for the first glimpse of the returning soldiers.  His father is with him, which hinders Stiles’ excitement because he has to be “proper” when his Dad is present.  It comes with being an omega.  
  
A year ago, Stiles had come into maturity and to the surprise of nearly everyone, was not an alpha like his siblings, but an omega.  Since his first heat, Stiles has lost all of his freedom, and is required to have an escort whenever he leaves the family grounds. It’s stifling, annoying and yes, he slips away _a lot_ to see his best friend, Scott, alone but he shouldn’t have to resort to ruse for what he’d been allowed to do so freely before.  
  
“Mattie!” His father’s yell is so out of character that Stiles has to laugh, he can see his eldest brother at the railing, tall and striking in the blue and black colors of the King's men. His dark hair once nearly to his waist is shorn close to his scalp, a mark of a warrior. “Matthew!”  
  
At his name, Matthew scans the crowd and his eyes light up when he sees them. He raises a hand, composure always intact and turns to speak into the sea of soldiers behind him. Jackson and Taylor step out and wave, Taylor looks like a hyper puppy, bouncing up and down on his heels.  Relief makes Stiles’ knees weak; they‘re all alive. The crowd swells and the soldiers begin to come ashore.  
  
Finally, Stiles is able to hug his brothers and even Jackson’s hug feels far too tight for his usual indifference. They’re all laughing and no one knows why exactly but happiness like this can’t be contained.  
  
“You’re no longer a puppy I see.” Jackson pinches Stiles’ cheek obnoxiously as he steps away. “And you grew like a damn weed!”  
  
Stiles is instantly engulfed in a bear hug by Matthew the instant Jackson sets him down. “And you’ve…changed.”  
  
On cue, all three freeze and it‘s comical as they all sniff the air.  
  
“Not an alpha?” Taylor is shocked. “You’re--”  
  
“Not an alpha.” His father finishes, tone leaving no room for conversation. Around them, sorrow clouds joy. Several of the spectators have turned away, others have wetness on their cheeks. There are many Weres who are not returning, they’ve passed on to the afterlife.   “It’s good to have all my boys back.”  
  
The carriage ride back to their manor is spent speaking of the war, of battles and victories.  Taylor and Matthew talk over one another and Jackson rolls his eyes when Taylor pouts at being interrupted; it’s as if nothing has changed and everything has all at once.     
  
Usually, Stiles would revel in such salacious conversation but he’s burning with questions. The normalcy is forced, artificial in its execution as if they’re _afraid_ to have a quiet moment. No one has mentioned Derek. It’s not so odd that Derek didn’t disembark with his brothers but it‘s perplexing that no one says a word about him.  
  
The Hale pack had been fending off the foreign threat alone for nearly a year before the Alpha major got involved. So, Derek’s been gone much longer than the rest; Stiles hasn’t seen him in over five years. This morning he’d dressed with care, donning  a light blue coat and dove breeches and tall brown riding boots --colors he knows Derek favors--because he wanted Derek to be blown away by him.    
  
Stiles had never even considered that Derek wouldn’t make it through; never once doubted that destiny would not prevail. Their avoidance can only mean one thing.  
  
Nauseous, Stiles nudges Taylor, drops his voice to a whisper. “Did you… have you any news of Alpha Hale?”  
  
The bright smile Taylor’s been wearing since his arrival fades. “Derek’s alive.”  
  
All of his brothers are avoiding any eye contact; all but Jackson.  
  
“What are you not telling me?”  
  
“He was hurt.” Matthew interjects, shooting Jackson a warning glare. “It‘s a serious injury, but he’s going to be fine.”  
  
“Good, that’s good news, right?” Forcing himself to take calming breaths, Stiles relaxes back against his seat. “He just needs some time to recuperate then, and with our abilities, it won‘t take long at all.”  
  
Another uncomfortable silence and now even his father looks curious.  
  
“Are you all really going to remain silent?” Jackson demands, “Really? We face war and death an yet you can not face Stiles with the truth? Stop treating him like he’s made out of glass!”  
  
“Jackson--”  
  
“The Argents were sadistic _bastards_.  They  hunted us like animals, their weapons of choice always designed to inflict maximum pain as well as death. Their munitions were almost always laced with silver. The bullets were unlike anything Dr. Deaton or I have ever encountered. They exploded on impact.” Jackson’s face is white, hands clenched into fists over his knees. “When Derek was hit… it shattered inside of him and we  couldn’t remove all the fragments.  The more we tried the more he bled. there was so much blood. I’ve never seen anything like it, no matter how hard we worked, how we…”  
  
“Derek is still alive, don‘t make yourself sick over this Stiles.” Taylor interjects firmly and Stiles realizes that his infatuation hasn’t been kept as well hidden as he thought. “That’s the important thing.”  
  
“He‘s a cripple.” Bitterness laces each of Jackson‘s words. “He’s not _Derek_ anymore and I don‘t fault him.”  
  
Stiles heart aches as he imagines the horrific pain Derek must’ve been through--the agony he must _still_ be living with, the constant poison present in his system inhibiting his body to heal completely.  
  
“This is an inappropriate conversation.” Their father says quietly. “You have to realize your brother is no longer an expected alpha. He’s omega and you will adjust accordingly.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Anger bubbles up inside of Stiles. “So I go into heat and suddenly I can’t handle regular conversation? You know that’s not true.”  
  
There‘s something akin to pity in the older man‘s eyes, “I’m trying to spare you.”  
  
For one horrific moment, Stiles thinks he may actually cry. “Where did Derek go?”  
  
“North.” Taylor responds. “He was sent back on his sickbed months before the war ended.”  
  
“To recuperate?”  
  
“To bury his family.” Matthew’s answer is spoken to the floor.  “Before we found and slaughtered them, the Argents set fire to his home, trapped all inside.”  
  
Bile rises, Stiles  remembers the Hales, Laura’s little cubs that were so sweet and playful. “Laura? Peter? Cecelia--”  
  
“All have perished.”  
  
***  
  
“I’m going to murder the next pig that comes sniffing.” Jackson bursts into Stiles bedroom, disregarding the closed doors and his earlier plea of illness. “You have another request for a ‘midnight stroll.’” He snorts in disgust. “Randy bastards.”  
  
The  embossed calling card is tossed down on the bedspread unceremoniously and Stiles wishes Jackson would just go away.  
  
Since Stiles has come of age the same cubs that refused to play with him as a child, have pursued him relentlessly.  Stiles knows it has more to do with how he looks than his status or personality. The years have been incredibly kind to him.  He’s grown into his large eyes and nose, his eyes are more amber than dirt brown now. His uncoordinated clumsiness has taken on a grace they never had and he’s grown taller, slim and lithe with lean muscle.  Just as Derek had promised all those years ago, his appearance more than rivals that of his brothers, and he’s even more enticing to alphas and beta because he is an omega.  
  
Averting his eyes, Stiles picks it up, laying it atop the growing stack on his nightstand. Usually, Stiles will take up some of the alphas on their offers of tea and conversation because he thinks of it as practice for Derek, but he’s not in the mood today. For the past few days, he’s thought of nothing else but Derek’s misery; he wishes with his entire being that he could go to him; offer comfort in his time of need. But every suggestion has been rebuffed,  and his brothers show no interest in traveling North.  
  
“You have quite the following.” Jackson muses aloud. “More so than I ever expected.”  
  
“Thank you for bringing the calling card.” Stiles hopes Jackson takes the hint and leaves, before he notices how red and swollen his eyes are. “Tell father I’ll take supper upstairs-”  
  
“Have you been crying?” Too late. “ What? You become an omega and now you’re a woman?”  
  
“Leave me alone.”  
  
“My apologies, perhaps I’m being insensitive.” Once again ignoring Stiles’ wishes, Jackson shuts the door, sits down at the very edge of the bed. “Come on, confess. Tell your big brother what troubles you.”  
  
Although Jackson’s offer is half hearted, Stiles realizes  that he is in fact the only one who will give him the pure, unadulterated truth.  Everyone else has been handling him with kid gloves.  
  
“Derek.”  
  
Instantly uncomfortable, Jackson snaps. “What about him?”  
  
“Is it…” Stiles shifts uncomfortably against the pillows. “ Why does Matthew not answer my questions? Is it just his leg? Or is there more?”  
  
“Is that what you’re upset about--Derek Hale’s bum leg? Stiles, there are people who are dead. I watched several good men in my unit fall. Don’t waste your tears on the living.”  
  
“You don’t understand.” Stiles grits his teeth, hand fisting in the sheets as his wolf fights to the surface. Jackson has always evoked such anger in him and he‘s furious now. “I care about what happens to Derek.”  
  
A pause, “Is this about your childhood infatuation?”  
  
“It is _not_ a childhood infatuation.” Defiant, Stiles looks him in the eyes.  It‘s better to be honest now. “Derek is my mate.”  
  
“Your _mate_?“ Jackson’s brows lift in surprise. “You think that Derek Hale is your mate? Have you gotten into Father‘s brandy?”  
  
“ _He is_.”  
  
“Even so, _even if_ I indulged your delusions, Derek Hale is not suitable to be a mate to anyone; not anymore.”  
  
***  
  
The pain is still unfamiliar, _still_ catches Derek off guard and robs him of  breath when he wakes. Every day, for one perfect moment, he is blissfully unaware of everything; for one perfect moment his family is alive and he is whole.  
  
And then the sun light reaches him, and he remembers. He is alone in this world, and is half a man. Derek knows the moment he rises, pain will spike down the entire right side of his body, steadily growing throughout the day until it tapers off into consistent hell.  
  
Blindly, Derek reaches for the decanter of whiskey by his bedside. It’s the only thing that can even begin to dull the ache. The fiery sting gives him the fortitude to face the day, to ignore the shadows of his family constantly haunting the fire ravaged halls he calls home.  
  
“Sir?” A short  knock on his door and  not even five seconds later Isaac’s curly blond head is poking through. Isaac is all that is left of the staff of nearly thirty, saved only because he fled and hid in the southern caves. “Rise and Shine, my lord! What would you like for breakfast?”  
  
“Nothing.” Derek barks shortly, then thinks better of it. “Coffee.”  
  
“Coffee, fruit tarts, quail eggs and buttered bread coming right up!” Isaac descends upon the chamber like a whirl wind, picking up Derek’s discarded robe and clothing with efficiency and ease. “I’ve drawn  a hot bath.”  
  
“What have I told you about knocking, Isaac?”  
  
The boy doesn‘t give pause. “I did knock, my lord.”  
  
“Wait for my permission to enter.” Derek growls. His anger only rises when Isaac brings him the wooden cane. “I don’t need it.”  
  
Pride refusing to let him do anything else, Derek swings his legs over the side of the bed, uncaring of his nakedness or the way Isaac’s eyes flicker over him. He knows what the scars look like to others, a red molten mass that spreads in twisted, grotesque welts from his hip to nearly his knee.  
  
Teeth gritted, Derek forces himself not to stumble at the bolt pain when he sets weight on his bad leg. Determined, he walks to the next room and steaming bath, limping slightly. He’s aware of Isaac following close behind, ready to catch him if he falls. It reminds him of Cecelia, of following after the little pup as she took her first unet easy steps.  
  
“The heat will relax the muscle.”  
  
“Shut up, Isaac.”  
  
Unperturbed, he nods. “As you wish.”  
  
They both know that Derek wouldn’t have been able to manage these past months without him. There’s no one else Derek can face now, alpha or not. It’s enough to maintain the facade the few times he’s been forced to be in public, he can’t do the same in his home.  
  
Derek closes his eyes as he sinks into the steaming bath. The water is almost too hot, and just the right temperature to leech the stiffness and soreness from his leg. With a sigh, he splashes water over his face, closes his eyes and leans back against the rim of the tub.  
  
“Repairs are to commence this afternoon.” Isaac reminds him slipping a soft towel beneath his neck. “ The men will want to speak with you.”  
  
Under the water, Derek skirts his fingers down over his thigh,  feels the mangled mass of scar tissue. “You have my permission to direct them.”  
  
“You’re going to have to face them sometime.”  
  
“I’m not hiding.”  
  
“Maybe, maybe not...but whatever you think of yourself; your people love you.” Isaac’s voice is soft, and his understanding is nearly Derek’s undoing. “ We’ve all lost in the war and your pack needs you, _the_ _king_ needs you to direct those entrusted in your care."

Derek knows the boy speaks truth but he cannot bring himself to walk the streets, ignore the pity in his people’s eyes. “Not today, Isaac.”  
  
***  
  
The war has been over for three months and Stiles hasn’t seen Derek once. There have been several celebratory balls and Stiles has attended each one dutifully, hoping for a glimpse of the man.    
  
Each evening  began much the same, Stiles would take care to look his best, style his unruly hair and wear colors he knew Derek found pleasing, and each time he was hit with crushing disappointment when Derek never arrived.

It’s probing more and more difficult to maintain his polite façade. The suitors who pursue Stiles are insufferable,  too bold and entitled, trying to grope him at every turn. He hates being scented and molested as soon as his brothers turn their backs.  
  
Tonight will likely prove to be the same.  
  
The King is throwing a  formal victory ball, a little late but the people are in need of a grand celebration. Any excuse to dress up and drink. Those of noble blood, the pure lines, are invited, as well as the decorated soldiers. Stiles’ family is among them.  
  
“I like that Boyd.”  
  
Stiles bites his tongue on a stinging retort.  
  
“Don’t you adrier Duke Boyd?” John continues, faint smile at his lips as he tracks the man’s movements. Boyd is speaking with the king, one hand on the royal robes in a familiarity only few are entitled to. “A fine alpha.”  
  
What his father really likes, Stiles thinks sourly, is Boyd’s position. As the pack alpha of  the largest territority under the Alpha Major’s control, Boyd holds tremendous power. Even more than Derek, _especially_ now that Derek’s pack has sustained a staggering loss.  
  
“The epitome of a gentlemen, I can envision  him in our family.”  
  
“Abandon that fantasy.” Stiles thinks its best to keep to himself how that gentlemen purposefully brushed his cock against his bottom as he passed behind him.  “I don’t like him.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
_Because I feel nothing when he touches me, because I knew who my mate was from tthe moment  he brushed dust away from my tear stained cheeks._

“I simply don‘t.”  
  
“Consider it.” His father says and Stiles wonders not for the first time why Jackson is so sure that Derek is unsuitable. “He would be a good mate to you.”  
  
No one can be better for him than Derek. Stiles has never forgotten that day, the years haven’t dulled that memory, and the childish fondness has grown, caught fire to bloom into love.

The last time Stiles had seen Derek he’d been twelve, painfully thin and horrifically awkward. He’d been uncoordinated, unpolished and Derek  still brought him apple tarts each time he visited his brothers; always handed the pastries over with a kind word.  
  
On that final visit, the moon had been full and his brothers had shifted, without him. Stiles had watched from his window, cheeks unnaturally hot as he watched the dark, powerful wolf run through the trees.  
  
“May I have this dance?”  
  
Stiles is brought back to the present when a smiling alpha he doesn’t recognize speaks in front of him. The man is tall, chestnut hair worn long  to his shoulders proving he has not fought in the recent war. His clothing is simple and elegant, emerald green and black, the colors of the western territories.  
  
Stiles wants to decline immediately but instead looks towards his father as propriety demands. When his Dad predictably nods his agreement, Stiles places his hand in the alpha’s waiting one and allows himself to be led to the dance floor.  
  
This alpha is at least not forward.  He introduces himself as James, a viscount of one of the minor territories. as they dance, James proves to be very charming, makes lively conversation and refreshingly enough, the man is intelligent, speaks of  Lord Byron’s poetry with a fierceness that rivals Stiles’ own.  
  
“ ‘He walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies,’” James executes a smart turn, mouth brushing just over Stiles’ ear. “ ‘And all that's best of dark and bright meets in his aspect and his eyes.’ ”  
  
“That’s my favorite.” Stiles smiles up at the man. He knows it’s been nearly three dances, enough time elapsing that  Matthew and Jackson are glaring  at the other man. “ ‘Thus mellow'd to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impair'd the nameless grace.’”  
  
“And tonight the words hold true.”  
  
Despite himself, Stiles feels a warm flush rise to his cheeks.  He’s imagined those words being spoken by Derek so many times, to hear another speak them is thrilling, even if its not the voice he longs for.  
  
“You’re very beautiful.” The pressure on the small of his back increases, even as the last strands of music fades. “And clever.”  
  
“It comes with having a mind of my own.”   
  
A warm smile and James doesn‘t even ask if Stiles wants to continue to dance, just begins again. “I enjoy that.”  
  
It’s times like these where Stiles should be happy and giddy or _something_. This is what everyone wants, right? A handsome alpha and charm, and yet all he can think about is Derek.  
  
 James smiles. “ From what I’ve been able to decipher, you’re a romantic who enjoys Lord Byron’s poetry, and…chocolate.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“I can smell it all over you.”  
  
Stiles laughs at his unapologetic admission to scenting. “You‘re correct.”  
  
“Tell me more about…” James’ voice trails off as a commotion catches both their attention. “Huh.”  
  
As soon as Stiles turns, he drops his hand from James’ forearm quickly.  
  
Derek is standing near the Kings table, and Stiles can‘t believe he didn‘t know, wonders when he arrived and if he saw him dancing with James.

Time comes to a halt.

Derek is the most handsome man by far, more handsome than even the king. He must be aware of the numerous eyes on him but he doesn’t react merely stands tall in black dress clothes, eyes a brilliant blue green in his lean face. Stiles notices the difference before he moves, there’s a harshness about him, his lips pressed too tight, and he’s lost a substantial amount of weight.  
  
Shoulders set in a proud line, Derek steps forward, walks to the King and bows stiffly. It’s a miniscule movement but Stiles can see the slight stumble, the quick shift of weight to his left leg as he raises his head.  
  
“Who is he?” James whispers, and Stiles takes a small, helpless step forward even as he knows he can’t go to him.  
  
“Derek Hale.” Stiles whispers, watching the king embrace him.  
  
“The major general? Everyone says his leg was blown off in the war.”  
  
“Clearly those tales were false.” All breath leaves him as Derek turns to survey the crowd. His eyes skip over numerous  people and then land on Stiles, _and stay there._

  
For one brilliant moment,  Stiles feels as if the stars and moon have finally aligned in his favor.  This is the moment he waited for, the long anticipated reunion  where Derek would spot him from across the ballroom and instantly feel the same burning love  Stiles does.  
  
Except that never comes.

There is no smile, no reaction and Derek turns away to resume conversation with the king. Eyes smarting, Stiles  is hit with a strong sense of self doubt.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Derek had looked straight at him and had no reaction at all.  
  
James is still by his side an hour later but Stiles is too distracted to follow what he’s saying.  For the first time since he arrived, Derek is leaving the King's table and walking out of the ballroom. Terrified that he’ll lose his first opportunity in months to speak with him, Stiles makes his excuses to James, and tries to follow only to be blocked by a grim faced Jackson who corrals him right back to his father.  
  
As Stiles watches, Derek moves past the double doors and  out the side veranda that leads  into the gardens.  There a hundreds of reasons why Stiles shouldn’t follow Derek outdoors but he ignores them all, slips away the moment Jackson’s distracted by a pretty beta.  
  
It’s dark outside, the night air damp with chill and Stiles feels incredibly unsure.  His doubts are chased away when he catches Derek‘s scent,  the one he’s craved for so long. He follows it to the center of the gardens.    
  
Stiles is nearly there when someone grabs his hand. Frustration fueling his anger,  Stiles turns around prepared to snap at Jackson but instead encounters Boyd.  
  
“What are you doing?” Outraged, Stiles stares up at him in disbelief. Boyd is well aware that they can‘t be alone together unaccompanied. “You _followed_ me?”  
  
“You wanted me to.” Boyd purrs, crowding close. When Stiles takes hurried steps back and  away, only to hit rough bark at his back Boyd chuckles in amusement. “Come now, Stiles, you don’t need to play shy with me.”  
  
“I can assure you I‘m not playing at anything. I only wanted fresh air.”  
  
Boyd leans down, hot breath skirting over Stiles’ lips. “No reason why we can’t enjoy the fresh air together.”  
  
“No." Stiles shoves him, but the bigger man barely moves. “I’m not interested.”  
  
“Everyone is interested in me.”  
  
“Then go find _everyone_ and leave me be.”  
  
“You‘re refreshing,” Boyd grabs his hand and jerks him forward against his hard chest. “I like a bit of fight in my partners.”  
  
“Boyd,” Struggling not to panic, Stiles holds his gaze.  He can‘t scream, can‘t draw attention to the fact that they‘re alone in the gardens. He knows what it will look like. “Let go of me, now.”  
  
“Don’t worry, you’ll like this.”  
  
Before Stiles can say another word of protest, Boyd’s mouth is over his, lips chapped and rough as he forces Stiles’ mouth open with his tongue. It’s sickening, it’s wrong and  there’s _nothing_ he can do to stop it.   
  
Still, Stiles pushes against him, wrenches his face away and gasps for air.  He tries to bring his knee up and into Boyd’s crotch but he dodges the blow, and gets even more aggressive, hands bruising and painful. The fear that pricks up Stiles’ spine is enough to make him contemplate screaming for help, consequences be damned.  
  
Blessedly, the sound of footsteps do what Stiles can not and Boyd hurriedly steps away from him. Lips stinging and pride bruised, Stiles pushes past him only to freeze, stomach dropping.  
  
Derek is standing there, eyes narrowed as he looks between them. It’s clear from the disapproving set of his mouth he’s drawn all the wrong conclusions.

Color creeps up Stiles’ neck and  he wants to impale Boyd on his own sword.  
  
“Genim Stilinkski, isn‘t it?” Distaste colors his tone and Stiles’ heart thuds painfully. “You shouldn’t be outdoors with an alpha unescorted.”  
  
“ I wasn’t.” This is a nightmare. “I was just…” Stiles trails off. It’s not like he can come right out and say he followed him outside. He finishes lamely, “I wanted air.”  
  
The excuse even sounds flimsy to his own ears.  
  
“Of course you did.” Derek’s eyes fall to Boyd, the man has been completely silent since he was discovered. It’s with some surprise that Stiles realizes he’s intimidated “You should go inside.” Derek says and surprisingly, for as pushy as he was with Stiles, Boyd merely nods and obeys leaving them alone.  
  
The irony in this is that Stiles had wanted to be alone with Derek just moments before, and now, when he is, he wants nothing more than to flee back to the safety of his father indoors.  
  
They both regard one another silently, the moon providing their only light. As shamed as he is Stiles can't stop himself from greedily cataloguing every detail of his mate's face, the shade of his stubble and indent of his chin.  
  
There‘s no reason why this meeting can‘t be salvaged, the Derek he remembers is caring and open minded.    
  
Determined, Stiles pastes on his most winning smile, “Derek, I’ve been. It‘s really great to see you again.”  
  
The coldness doesn‘t dissipate. “You have leaves in your hair.”  
  
Blushing furiously, Stiles runs a hand through  the brown strands, “I know what that looked like and I can assure you--”  
  
“Do you know what it looked like?” Arms crossed over his chest, Derek watches him with unreadable eyes. “So little Genim Stilinkski is all grown up and sneaking out into the gardens with alphas.”  
  
“I wasn’t sneaking out, he followed me.”  
  
“When you left the ball to get air.”  
  
“Yes,” Stiles says tightly. “I’m not…I’m not like that.”  
  
“I’m sure.” In response, Derek shrugs, turns away. “I’ll leave you to your air then.”  
  
“Wait!” It’s like an ache, Stiles wants to touch Derek so badly. He doesn’t want him to go, not like this.  “It’s been years since I saw you last. There have been so many rumors. I just wanted to ask… how are you?”  
  
“How I am?” If possible Derek stiffens further, hair shifting in the wind. “You mean my leg, don’t you? You want to know all the details? Just come out and say it.”  
  
“I don’t care about that, I only care about…” Stiles drops his eyes to Derek’s boots. He’d nearly spoken his true feelings. “You know I wouldn’t ask you just to have a bit of gossip.”  
  
“In that case, I’m great,” Derek drawls, sarcasm heavily coating the word. “Just great.”  
  
“I hoped for you safe return.” The words slip out without his permission and Derek gives him an odd look.

“Did you,” Giving Stiles his back, Derek turns and sits down on a stone bench, looks up at the sky.  
  
At a loss, Stiles walks forward to sit next to him.  He is closer than propriety allows, but his wolf will not be denied. Every cell of his body is aware that if he moves his fingers a quarter of an inch their hands would brush together. Even now, he’s reacting to Derek’s scent, is nearly drunk off of it. Any longer and Derek may even be able to smell how excited he is becoming. It’s embarrassing and thrilling all at once, to finally feel what the poets write about, to know that he was right about Derek being _his_.  
  
There is someone who makes his heart pound, who sets his pulse racing, makes his body ache and makes him grow damp between his thighs.  
  
A sharp inhalation, and Derek’s eyes fall to him accusingly. “Is that all?”  
  
Stiles is renowned for his wit  but all his thoughts have evaporated to mush the moment Derek looked at him.  
  
“I’m sorry about your family,” Stiles says uncertainly because he doesn‘t know what else to say. However, the words are sincere. “When I heard what happened…I was speechless.”  
  
Derek grunts in reply, one hand  moving to absently rub across his thigh.  
  
“Cecilia always--”  
  
“Don’t speak about her.” There’s no mistaking the anger in his voice. “I’ve accepted your sympathies, you can leave.”  
  
“My apologies,  I only meant that she was a loving child and--”  
  
“I’ve twice asked you to cease your course of conversation.”  
  
This is wrong.  
  
Nothing is going as Stiles imagined, Derek shows none of the gentleness of the past.  
  
“I didn’t mean to make you remember anything unpleasant.”  
  
“And yet you have.” Derek snaps, he gets to his feet, too quickly for his injured leg and stumbles.  
  
On instinct alone, Stiles reaches out to steady him, fingers wrapping around his bare wrist.  
  
“I don’t need your help” Derek snarls venomously, wrenching his arm free. “Are you that desperate for male attention?”  
  
It feels like he‘s been struck. “I w-was only trying to --”  
  
“I’m not a cripple, I can stand on my own two feet!”  
  
“I never--”  
  
“Go back inside to Duke Boyd, _now_! Your presence is neither wanted nor needed.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book store scene may be reminiscent of the one found in Julia Quinn one, my step sister told me about it. Hopefully not plagiarism-y. lol
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for being patient while I was ill!

***Stiles***

  
Like a horribly clichéd poem written by Scott’s own hand, Stiles’ life has become a melodrama. He knows angsting over his nonexistent love life while sparring is a bad idea but he can’t help it. He and Derek had had the worst reunion in history. Instead of Stiles’ sparkling personality, Derek had only seen what he thought was an illicit love affair.  
  
Perhaps if Stiles had been a bit quicker on his feet--“Fuck!” Pain breaks through his thoughts as the flat of Scott’s sword hits Stiles’ ribs with enough force to rattle his teeth.  
  
“Those are my ribs you‘re attempting to crack, jerk!” There is no doubt in Stiles’ mind that he’ll have a spectacular bruise to show for it come morning.    
  
Completely unrepentant, and just a tad smug, Scott grins.  “Gotta be quick when you face the feared black wolf of the south!”  
  
No one calls Scott the “feared black wolf of the south.” That title is only given life in his own wild imagination.  
  
Side and pride smarting, Stiles sidesteps Scott’s next blow, counters and thrusts forward to slice through Scott’s white lawn shirt and cut a thin line down his best friend’s forearm.  
  
“Damn it! You cut me!” Scott hisses, drawing back immediately. Gone is the warrior and in his place a bewildered child. “We agreed to draw no blood!”  
  
It‘s his turn to smile, “That was _before_ you struck me hard enough to break my ribs.”  
  
“Because you left your chest wide open, how was I to resist such an easy blow?”  
  
“I could say the same.”  
  
“You’re cruel.” With a grumble, Scott sheathes his sword and Stiles’ knows all sport is over for the day.  
  
Honestly, Stiles is lucky that his friend is willing to spar with him, few will.  His father would have a heart attack if he could see them now. It’s humorous that he expects him to just abandon the activities he loves to sit at home and learn how to run a household.  
  
“We agreed, no blood.” Scott  continues with his pity party. “What will I tell Allison?”  
  
“No idea.” Stiles retrieves his handkerchief and hands it to Scott, “But thanks to you, I’m going to be sleeping on my back for the next few nights.”  
  
“You’re in a foul mood.”  
  
“Yes, well, if your mate thought you were a whore you’d be upset to.”  
  
“Using words like whore?” Scott attempts to hide a grin and fails, throwing his head back as he laughs. “Sorry, it’s weird how much things have changed.”  
  
“Shut up.” Stiles says but he can feel a smile pull at his lips. “I was perhaps too dramatic.”  
  
“Only a little bit.” Scott  draws the reigns on his stallion Lila. “C’mon, let’s head back before dinner. I don’t want your father catching us off guard like he did last week. I thought he‘d have my head.”  
  
“We could shift, I’d race Lila.”  
  
“That’s not exactly proper.”  
  
“And that’s not exactly a no.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
“I’m thinking Royal blue-- no, Emerald and black trim, those are your best colors.” Lydia tilts her head assessing him from head to toe briskly Stiles can almost see the gears turning. “And tall boots to accentuate your ass--”  
  
“Really, Lydia?” Stiles squeaks when she gives his behind a firm pat,  “My ass?”  
  
“I was _going_ to say assets, but ass will do.”  
  
“Very improper.”  
  
“Who needs to be proper?” Lydia shrugs, sending her red hair forward to curtain her face as she opens a mahogany chest and produces a bolt of fabric.  “I’m not a lady.”  
  
Stiles sits in the high-backed arm chair near the fire place, it appears he’ll be here for a while. “Count yourself lucky you’re not.”  
  
“Well, my designs are what all Weres _of quality_ are requesting so I’m good enough for some limited things clearly.”  
  
The humor in Lydia’s statement rings hollow and Stiles feels kind of ashamed to complain about his life.  Because as much as he hates his position in society he _has_ position.  Lydia,  the bastard child of a baron, is fortunate even if she doesn’t have a position in society. She’s not in a brothel, is not some randy alpha’s mistress; she’s a very talented seamstress and puts her skills to use to support herself and her mother. From such different classes, Stiles and Lydia  had met  purely by chance Lydia the summer before he turned ten while he was out with his father at the general store.  He’d been trying to steal a peppermint stick and she’d caught him. When Lydia promised not to tell if he stole her one as well, he’d known they’d be fast friends.  
  
This ‘fashion’’ and “avant garde” stuff is boring but Stiles doesn’t mind wearing the things Lydia creates because it generates business for her.  If society is dumb enough to care who he wears, it’s their fault, not his. Besides, Lydia is good at what she does, she’d probably do just as well without him.  
  
“How are things with Prince Charming?” Lydia asks as she cuts the fabric. “Everyone was talking about the splash he made at the ball, _although_ he should’ve worn something of mines instead of the executioner’s robes he arrived in.”  
  
Stiles stares down at the dainty plate of refreshments Lydia‘s set out. “Executioner is right.”  
  
Lydia tsks. “So it’s not true love then?”  
  
“It’s…something.” Stiles replies ruefully. “He doesn’t like me much.”  
  
“Then he’s an idiot.” Lydia says decisively. “Any man with sense would see that beneath the sarcasm, the knobby knees, the loud mouth, the annoying chatter and --”  
  
“Wow, Lydia, thank you--”  
  
“And spastic gestures, you’re a good, no a _great_ ,  catch.” The smile she gives is kind and any show of kindness from Lydia is more pity than anything else. It makes him feel worse. “My advice? Forget about him. Plenty of fish in the sea.”  
  
“Plenty.”  
  
“Excellent, now have a brie and apple tart-- or two-- and tell me all about this dashing Viscount.”  
  
Stiles already has one shoved into his mouth, “James?”  
  
“And already on a  first name basis! Must have left quite an impression.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
There’s no reason to be outside of Derek’s townhouse and yet here he is, slinking around the streets like a common criminal at dusk just so he won’t be seen. It’s so far beneath him. Before he loses all nerve, Jackson grips the brass knocker and pounds it against the door frame three times.  
  
After a brief moment, a servant answers. “Yes?”  
  
Jackson hasn’t seen this servant before and he‘s relatively familiar with all of Derek’s city staff. The man standing in front of him is young; has a lean face, dark eyes and curly dark blonde hair.  
  
“Is Duke Hale in?” Jackson asks when the man just stands there, clearly he isn’t well versed in etiquette regarding his betters.  
  
The servant returns Jackson’s suspicious stare and doesn‘t give way as he should. “ Do you have an appointment?”  
  
Jackson frowns, “It’s a _social_ visit.”  
  
The servant still doesn’t move and Jackson feels righteous anger bubbling up within him at being held on the stoop like a common shop boy.  
  
“Get the Duke, now!”  
  
“Well,” The servant has the nerve to look disapproving. “That’s not very friendly.”  
  
Jackson eyes widen in disbelief as the door begins to close in his face.  
  
“Isaac,” Derek’s voice sounds from inside. “Didn’t I tell you not to answer the door?”  
  
“Finally!” Jackson pushes his way into the foyer, pushing the boy--Isaac-- aside.  Derek‘s leaning against the wall, gaunt face illuminated under candlelight. “You should train your servants not to be obnoxious brats.”  
  
“Great idea!” Isaac‘s eyes narrow, “You should train yourself not to be an asshole.”  
  
Shock courses through Jackson, he’s never been spoken to that way by anyone, much less a bloody servant. “How dare you! I could have you flogged for less--”  
  
“Shut up, Jackson.” Derek actually sounds amused, “Isaac, go back to your dinner, I’ll see this _gentlemen_ out myself.”  
  
“What?” Shaking away his recent humiliation, Jackson rounds on him. “Don’t have time for an old friend?”  
  
“Are we friends, Jackson?”  
  
For a brief moment, something hot and aggressive rises up in him, pushes the alpha to the surface. There were times when he would actually willingly submit to another alpha, that will never happen again.  
  
 Jackson meets his eyes challengingly, “We used to be more than that, once.”  
  
As expected, Derek snarls. “Don’t bring up old bullshit.”  
  
“Gladly.” Jackson sneers back. He’s not here to dredge up the past, the future is what has to be considered.  “I’ll make it short and sweet then; stay away from my brother.”  
  
“I haven’t said more than two words to him since I returned.”  
  
“Then keep it up. I don’t want you hurting him with your shitty life. He‘s better than that and he’s better than you.”  
  
“Like you care about any one else other than yourself.”  
  
“I care about him a hell of a lot more than you do.” Jackson meets him toe to toe. “The moment he learns just how despicable you are, what you caused, he won’t want anything to do with you, just like everyone one else who has any kind of sense.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
The city always feels the same. The crowds of people belying the inherent loneliness of its inhabitants. Even before, Derek had never really liked to be in the capital. He much preferred the countryside which held his ancestral home.   The only bright side of the city was that it was home to the Stilinskis.  Matthew had always been his closest friend, his house was always full of life and laughter. When John had remarried, even amongst the scandal, Derek had taken to the young boy Stiles immediately.  
  
That has all changed. Matthew doesn’t speak to him, no one really does. Those who don’t blame him, pity him. And the few who do neither, are afraid.  
  
Derek remembers why he doesn’t go into the capital the moment he steps out of the carriage to go into the post.  As it did the night of the ball, the whispers begin immediately.  Isaac scowls enough for the both of them when some woman looks in their direction, whips out a fan and begins whispering.  
  
People have too much time in the city, time to gossip and giggle behind their fans.  
  
Insufferable.  
  
Derek cannot wait until he returns to the safety of his own territory.  Had the King not summoned him, he would’ve never left.  Derek guessed it wouldn’t do to not parade the lieutenant major at the victory ball, a crippled relic of the cause.  
  
That night had been the worst. No amount of alcohol could dull his senses enough, take away the stiffness and aching in his leg. It had been what they all wanted, to see him stumble, and he‘d fought not to give in to the pain.  Hot with anxiety and whiskey, Derek had sought solace in the gardens only to find Stiles wrapped around Duke Boyd.  
  
Little Stiles who would trail after him and beg for apple tarts,  all grown up and  playing the mating game. It had surprised Derek just how angry the scene made him.  
  
It’s illogical to think that Stiles would still be a child, but he’d been furious.  
  
If Derek was honest he’d expected…something. What, he’s not sure. Amidst the derision of the rest of the Stilinkski clan, the pity of society and the fear, Derek had  been looking forward to _that_.  
  
That feeling of  immense pride he felt when Stiles told him he was the best alpha anyone could ask for after he won the archery competition.  
  
That feeling of peace that would overtake him when Stiles gave him a hug or waited up for them after a full moon.  
  
Because, of all the people in society, Stiles had never judged him, always saw the best in him, and he’d counted on that. Derek had needed to feel like he was that man again, a good man, and not a bastard who led thousands to their deaths.  
  
But even that had changed, been ripped away from him.  
  
In the ballroom, Stiles’ eyes had skipped right over him. It had stung, drove him to refill his wine glass repeatedly. The message was clear, the change in him physical. Stiles was no longer an awkward, insecure boy, he was a celebrated member of polite society and as such above him.  
  
That was something Derek didn’t need Jackson to tell him, he already knew.  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Family dinners at the Stilinkski residence have always been interesting. Usually, they’re shouting over one another, trying to tell different stories. It’s generally a fun time. Stiles used to look forward to them, not anymore.  Now, dinner is used to talk up potential matches to Stiles and pressure him.  
  
John pauses in his recitation of the brilliant qualities of Viscount James to put on a  concerned face, “You’ve been quiet tonight, is everything alright?”  
  
There are several things wrong but his father wouldn’t want to hear his problems.  He’ll think Stiles has caused most of them himself anyway.  
  
 “I’m fine.” Stiles lies;  sometimes he just wants to be left alone. “Just tired.”  
  
“I know when something’s wrong.”  
  
Those words are so off base it nearly makes Stiles laugh. His father is notorious for being oblivious in certain respects. When it comes to history and events, John is remarkable but when it comes to his children, not so much.  
  
Forcing a smile, Stiles says. “I’m just missing Matthew.”  
  
“He has his own life.” Jackson says shortly, although Stiles has caught him staring at Matt’s room more than once in the past few days. “You don’t need to sulk like a puppy.”  
  
“Leave him alone.” Taylor automatically defends him. It’s like they’re children again.  
“It wouldn’t kill you to drop the tough man act for one meal.”  
  
“If you hadn’t interrupted me, _Taylor,_ I was going to say that I could escort Stiles to Matt’s manor if he wished.”  
  
Stiles is sure the visit is more for Jackson than it is for himself. “Thank you, Jack.”    
  
“I’ll go as well.” Taylor declares like he’s calling a bluff. “It’ll do me some good to get out of town, find new scenes to paint.  The North’s landscape is beautiful at this time of the year.”  
  
It‘s too perfect not to try. “And perhaps we could continue to the caverns.”  
  
“The caverns or Duke Hale’s territory? Stiles, you’re so damn transparent. Fine, someone has to be the bad guy and as usual, it has to be me.” Jackson  doesn’t look at all pained to be the bad guy. “Derek Hale is not for you. The sooner you get that through your head, the happier we will all be.”  
  
Stiles scowls at him. “I wasn’t _implying_ anything romantic, I just wanted to visit.”  
  
“Uninvited?” Jackson scoffs, “That’s rich.”  
  
“Jack,” Their father begins but Jackson ignores him.  
  
“Tell me, dear brother, do you know how Derek  sustained his wound?”  
  
Stiles swallows hard, not liking the sympathetic look Taylor is trying to disguise behind his wineglass.  “You said that a--”  
  
“A woman, a _treacherous_ human slut he thought he loved set our unit up to be ambushed. Derek was foolish enough to relay our  strategy to her.” Jackson’s knuckles are white around his fork, ice blue eyes unwavering. “She toyed with him, nearly led us all to death along with the rest of his family.”  
  
A human.  
  
“That’s not true.” Stiles snaps, “You’re an incredible ass to lie about a war hero!”  
  
“But it is,” Jackson’s voice is quiet now, and Taylor and his father are staring down at their plates. “Kate _Argent_ held Derek’s heart and she destroyed it. There is nothing left there for you.”  
  
The disappointment he feels is crushing.    
  
All of these years, all of the expectations.  
  
The only reason why Stiles had cared, the only reason why he’d been happy when he began to receive attention from alphas and betas was because he’d thought that meant Derek would  be attracted to him. That he would finally be good enough for someone like him.  
  
And while he pined, while he pathetically groomed himself to be the perfect mate,  Derek had fallen in love with a woman; a human.  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
The shopkeeper eyes are cold as they stare down at him. “Perhaps you would like to return with your alpha, I’d gladly bind the book for you then.”  
  
The suggestion is clearly an order and Stiles bristles, says a silent apology to his father for the scene he’s about to make. He’d known when he’d walked past the display of rare books that he should wait to go in, especially with this store’s reputation but damn it, he wanted the novel now.  Stiles needs the distraction to stop thinking about this Kate.  To stop thinking about _Kate and Derek_ , Derek kissing Kate, loving her and trusting her enough to give away war secrets.  
  
There’s no reason why he should have to be accompanied just to buy a stupid book.  
  
“My alpha?” Stiles’ voice cuts loudly through the chatter that  began as soon as he approached the till.

The store is a well known alpha club, the kind of alphas who prefer not to be disturbed by those they feel are not their ‘equals.’  
  
 _Idiots_ , the lot of them. Stiles could likely best them all in combat.  
  
“Why would I need an alpha to buy a simple book?” His tone is all false sincerity, whisper more like a shout as he leans in. “I know you spend your time hidden among these dusty volumes but surely, even you have enough sense to know that an omega is fully capable of buying a damn book!”  
  
“The nerve.” The man spits, rising to his feet. “Your alpha will be hearing about this very shortly, leave my establishment now, before I have you thrown out!”  
  
A prickle of apprehension goes down Stiles’ spine and he assesses the situation. The two betas who serve as the shop boys are well muscled, but Stiles would bet anything that he’s faster, has the training to take both of them if he shifts.  Stiles can feel his skin tingling, the push of adrenaline calling him to engage. His father will have to suffer another scandal.  
  
 Stiles looks the man straight in the eyes. “Not without my book.”  
  
“I refuse to sell it to the likes of you.”  
  
“Then get used to seeing the likes of me because I’m not leaving, and I‘ll gladly knock you and your shop boys on your ass if you lay a finger on me.”  
  
The man is so furious he literally sputters, spittle flying past his mouth as his face goes red. His eyes are flashing and Stiles knows the situation is getting out of control.  
  
Stiles takes a step forward.  
  
“Deliver the book to him.”  
  
Derek’s voice is unexpected and the silence deepens.  
  
A slight hesitation before the alpha reigns himself in.  
  
“Of course, my lord.” The man moves quickly to carry out the request  and Stiles is sure his haste is aided by his need to have Stiles out of his store as well as his presence.  
  
“And what could possibly be worth all of this trouble?” Derek asks dryly over his shoulder. He reaches past Stiles to take the package when the shop keeper hands it over “ _The Princesse de Clèves_.” His voice dips in distaste. “All that trouble for this drivel? A romantic, are you?”  
  
Fuming, Stiles snatches the book from him. “Only the simplest of men would see it as such.”  
  
At the insult, Derek chuckles darkly. “You’re welcome.”  
  
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Embarrassment makes his words curt, and he turns on his heel, heading for the door. “ I would‘ve gotten it on my own.”  
  
“I’m sure.”  
  
Stiles glares but doesn’t respond.  
  
“Come,” Derek catches his elbow. “ I’ll accompany you to your carriage.”  
  
Stiles thinks of Kate, anger and hurt slice through him making him lash out. “How do you know I’m not planning another rendezvous? You’d just be in the way.”  
  
A self depreciating laugh, “I should apologize for that night, I wasn’t exactly clearheaded; too much to drink. You‘re old enough and smart enough to make your own choices.”  
  
There’s a glimmer of the old Derek and Stiles can feel himself warm in response. “That’s no excuse and I was _rejecting_ Duke Boyd, not accepting his advances, not that it’s any business of yours.”  
  
Derek looks at him with unreadable eyes. “It’s not as if it matters to you what some old alpha thinks.”  
  
It does.  
  
It matters _alot_.  
  
But Stiles doesn’t say so because Jackson is right. Derek is different. The person he idealized is gone, carved into a man who is cold and cruel; lonely.  
  
Mindful of Derek’s uneven gait, Stiles doesn’t walk as quickly as he normally does. He takes the time instead to sneak glances at the alpha. It doesn’t matter how Lydia teases, the executioner’s robes do him justice, elongate his lean muscles and accentuate his broad shoulders.  
  
Once they reach Stiles’ carriage,  Derek pats him on the back, in a sickeningly kind of brotherly way. “Safe travels.”  
  
“Wait!” There are so many reasons why Stiles should bit his tongue but he ignores every single one. “Come to the manor for dinner, like old times?”  
  
Derek‘s eyes drop away. “I doubt your family would welcome me.”  
  
“Uh.” Stiles’ eyes drop and all he can hear are Jackson’s words, how he blames the huge death toll on Derek. “He…People make mistakes, if the king does not fault you, why should anyone else?”  
  
“So you know.” The hardness returns but this time Stiles sees it for what it is; armor. “I figured people would talk.”  
  
“You’re not the one to blame, if anything it’s her--”  
  
“You weren’t there.” Derek cuts him off, hand heavy against Stiles’ back as he shoves him into the carriage. “Don’t pretend to understand.”  
  
“I wasn’t there, but I didn’t have to be. I know you, Derek. You’re not one to betray the trust of your men, I don’t believe you’d do so even if you were…in love.”  
  
There is no reply, and Stiles is well aware of only the pounding pulse of his heart as Derek stares up at him for so long that the horses start to get antsy.  
  
“You don’t know me as well as you think.” Derek finally says, “It was nice seeing you again, Stiles. Goodbye.”  
  
The carriage door shuts in his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roller coaster, whew. So I wrote this on a serious red bull induced haze, and then re-read it the next day and was like, yeah okay, I'll keep all of this.
> 
> FAIR WARNING: this story mentions mpreg, main pairing mpreg/ actual mpreg doesn't happen but it's possible. I'll probably do an mpreg epilogue to appease ,myself and fellow mpreg lovers.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! Point out glaring mistakes, and be kind :)
> 
> Thank you for all you wonderful comments, they fuel me to write :) and yes, I wrote this on an IPAD, the horror, after I left my computer at my mothers house. I suffered through the touch screen for you all :D

* **Stiles** *

 

“How do you stay so thin? Witchcraft?” Lydia muses sourly as she methodically sews on the last of the brass buttons Stiles had managed to tear loose some way or the other. “All you do is stuff your mouth with sweets, and yet your measurements stay the same.”

 

Shrugging, Stiles reaches for another almond scone. “I resent your tone. You put these out for your customers, right? I‘m a customer, therefore I will devour  _all_ your scones.”

 

“On second thought, It must be all that talking you do, flapping your gums must be a formidable form of sport.”

 

“Clever.” Resisting the urge to make a face when Lydia gives him her back,  Stiles stands up, brushes the copious amount of crumbs off his lap and tries on the dark green coat instead. It fits him perfectly. “Well?" He asks Lydia, "Was all your fussing worth it?”

 

“Yes.” Lydia beams, “I’ve worked yet another miracle! You look very handsome. My talent continues to astound me."

 

It’s impossible to be offended by Lydia’s words, especially when she delivers them with such a warm smile. 

 

While she wraps his garments, Stiles ponders the best way to get information out of her. “Lydia, have you ever been to the North?”

 

“Once, with my grandfather. He used to grow blueberries near the caverns.” Her expression turns wistful. “It’s very beautiful, not at all like the city. The wildflowers alone are enough to take your breath away; blue, violet, pink and gold; painted by God's own hand."

 

“Isaac has done some landscapes and they look incredible.” Stiles smoothes down the lapels of his the evening jacket, imagines the foliage she speaks of. “I’ve always preferred the country, Dad says it’s in my blood. My mother is from a town in the West territory, you know. She grew up with more horses than Weres or humans.”

 

“Your mother, ” Lydia gives him a pointed look as she clears away the refreshment plate, slapping Stiles hand as he tries to take the last scone. “Because that’s what this love for the North is about.”

 

Stiles huffs. “Not everything is about Derek Hale.”

 

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of England.”

 

“Fine.” Stiles huffs, “ It’s about Derek, but I don’t want to hear anything negative from you;  I’m not giving up on him.”

 

“If this was any other man, I’d applaud your tenacity, I would, but Stiles, this will only end in hurt. From what you have told me, from the gossip I’ve heard in this very room from others,  Derek is not looking for a mate.”

 

“I can change his mind.”

 

"Are you sure about that?"

 

Of course he's not sure, but love isn't about certainty it's about need. The desire Stiles has for Derek is all encompassing, he lays awake night after night beneath the moon and physically _aches_ to be with him. There's no way to explain this feeling to others.

 

"Haven't you ever been in love?"

 

"Love?"  Lydia speaks the word as if it is a curse. " Is that not just a pastime for the wealthy ?"

 

" One day, Lydia, you will meet a man who will make you into the fool that stands before you."

 

" And on that day, I shall throw myself into the Adriatic Sea."

 

* **Isaac** *

 

Carefully balancing the tray of coffee, bread, ham, and sweet jam in hand, Isaac opens Derek’s bedroom door. As is his habit every morning, he sets the platter down on the nearest table, reaches to draw back the bed curtains and jumps in shock to find Derek awake; dressed and freshly shaved.

 

 "You scared me!"

 

“What did I tell you about knocking?” Derek glares at him from the chair near the fireplace, which is lit. Done apparently by this creature who has possessed Derek's body. “One day you’re going to walk in onadult activity and your head will implode.”

 

Isaac is hardly concerned. “I grew up on a farm, nothing you do in your chambers will shock me.”

 

“You're but a child of ten and seven.”

 

Because it will please Derek, Isaac makes another empty promise to knock upon entering. Derek is delusional if he believes he displays any stealth in his sexual rendezvous. To Derek, Isaac will forever be the knobby kneed cub that loved making mud pies, and that is precisely why Isaac pretends to not see when Aidan, the blacksmith's son, or Leah the tavern girl, sneak out of his chambers at dawn. 

 

“What are you doing up anyway?” Isaac pours him a cup of coffeeand adds one sugar before setting it down in front of Derek. “ You’re never awake this early.”

 

“I used to rise at dawn daily.” Derek responds, “It’s time I get back to old habits, as you said, there’s much work to be done. How can I oversee it if I sleep the day away?”

 

“And drink it away.” Isaac mutters, “Will that stop as well?”

 

“Jackson may have a point about your sharp tongue.” There’s no heat in Derek’s growl however. “You’re far too outspoken.”

 

“I may not be a noblemen but we do not stand on propriety in the North.”

 

“That is true.”

 

They eat in silence, enjoying the breakfast as the sun rises high in the sky and floods the room with light. It appears Derek has been up for a long time, all his things have been tidied and his traveling chest packed.

 

"I'm meant to pack your things."

 

"It won't kill me to do it myself."

 

"A nobleman doing manual labor? Jackson would be apoplectic."

 

Derek laughs and Isaac wants to bask in the sound because Derek's  happiness is infectious. It always has been. They need joy in their pack again.

 

"Jackson is particular."

 

“It’s a pity.” Isaac muses aloud when he rises to clear away the plates. “For one so beautiful to be so ugly.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Jackson.” And damn, Isaacwishes he could bite his tongue. He hadn’t known he was thinking aloud.

 

“Jackson…is a complicated man, but he’s not a bad one.”

 

“You can defend him even after the way he treated you?”

 

“Listening at corridors, are we?”

 

“I was eavesdropping.” He openly admits. “Just in case.”

 

“I appreciate it, but Jackson would never… he fights with his words, that is his weapon of choice.”

 

“He’s angry with you.”

 

“Many are.”

 

“But you didn’t tell Kate anything, she _stole_ your private papers!”

 

“It makes no difference. "

 

“Of course it does, don’t you want to mate one day? Have a family? If your reputation is in shambles that’s jeopardized.”

 

A shadow crosses Derek’s face, “I’ve put aside those thoughts long ago; trust is a lie, love is an excuse to hurt and be hurt. To be mated is not something I want or need.”

 

Isaac knows he shouldn’t push, he can see the tick in Derek’s jaw that comes when he’s angry but he can’t help it. “And what of that omega who’s enamored with you?”

 

“Stiles is a _child_ fixated on a man who died in the war, he does not care for me as I am now.”

 

“And you know this how? ”

 

“Leave it, Isaac.”

 

 

* **Stiles** *

 

Stiles wakes with a start when a weight suddenly drops down on to his chest. He opens his eyes and is met with a drool filled smile of his two year old nephew Cameron. Which can only mean that Matthew is visiting!

 

Tickling the boy, Stiles turns him over swiftly, dodging his little limbs as Cameron giggles. 

 

“Niles! Niles! Stop it!”

 

“You woke up the monster.” Stiles roars dramatically in response and is suddenly attacked from behind by Leora, his four year old niece who is never far from Cam. While Cameron looks like Claire with fair hair and blue eyes, Leora is Matthew's duplicate, hair dark and long limbed.

 

“Alright, you little imps.” Taking Leora in one hand and Cam in the other, Stiles steps out of bed. “Both of you stay still while I get dressed.”

 

“I’m a good girl.” Leora tells him, before she grabs Cam’s hand, restraining him from running full tilt at Stiles‘ wardrobe. “We’ll stay very quiet. Promise.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Stiles rushes to get his shirt and pants on. “I love to hear you both talk, tell me all about everything I’ve missed.”

 

Leora lights up, “Well, Mama made me this pretty pink dress cause I like this color. It’s my favorite. And I got my own pony, it’s not mine, not yet ‘cause Daddy thinks he’s gonna eat me but Ryan’s just a baby! Silly daddy. I help brush his coat.”

 

Leave it to Leora to be completely incomprehensible.

 

“She means Orion, a two year old colt Claire’s father bought her." Matthew’s voice clarifies from outside the door. "And you were meant to wish your uncle a joyous birthday, Leora! May I come in, are you decent?”

 

“You weren’t concerned with decency when you let Cam and Leora ambush me in my sleep!” Stiles calls back but he finishes getting dressed rapidly, throws open the door to be lifted clear off his feet in a rib breaking hug. "You're going to crush me!"

 

“Jackie said you missed me.” Matthew sets him down and Cameron rushes forward hands up plaintively, as he shoves Stiles away. “He gets jealous.” Matt explains as he lifts the boy up. “You’ll understand all these idiocies when you have children.”

 

_When you have children._

 

The words make Stiles falter. He’s always pictured that kind  of life, eventually. He’d just always imagined it with a  specific person. If the past days have shown him anything, it's that few of his expectations will become reality. 

 

And yet, Stiles still wants the same things, maybe it’s time to look for someone who will share his dream, and desire to fulfill it with him.

 

* **Stiles** *

 

Later that night, after the house is quiet, Stiles climbs out of bed. After he lights a candle, he pulls out the neat stack of journals he keeps buried in the chest beneath his bedclothes.  He’s kept each journal as a keepsake, something to could show his children, a funny tale of true love that Derek would find equal parts amusing and heartwarming once they were mated.

 

The words he’s written do little more than mock him now.

 

Stiles runs a finger over the oldest entry,  ‘Today, I met the man I’m going to marry.' He can barely remember writing it, the thought had just always stayed with him. Derek had  been a constant presence, always caring and always there to offer advice and shield him from Jackson’s temper.

 

It’s time to let it go. With a sigh, Stiles closes the journal and places it back at the bottom of the chest. Stiles is persistent but Lydia is right, he won’t be pathetic, not even for Derek.

 

Determined,  Stiles reaches for the stack of calling cards at his desk; finds the one bearing Viscount James’s seal and sets it aside.  Tomorrow he'll send his acceptance.

 

* **Jackson** *

 

All Jackson had wanted when he left the stable that evening was a quiet ride toescape Matthew's demons, it just his misfortune that he nearly tramples and kills Derek’s servant boy when he rounds the fifth bend. 

 

The idiot is laying on his coat, nearly hidden in the tall grass, without a care in the world even as Halo rears up on his hind legs nearly unseating Jackson in the process.

 

From his bed of sweet grass, Isaac’s dark eyes mock him. “You ought to be more careful, my lord.” 

 

The honorific sounds like an insult.

 

“ _You_!” Jackson peers down at him, takes in the bare feet, rolled up trousers and loose white shirt. “Aren’t you meant to be fetching and cleaning?”

 

“Don't forget chimney sweeping!” Isaac doesn’t spare him another glance,  just continues to lay there beneath the shade of the tree. “I seem to recall working for Derek, not for you.”

 

“You should really be careful how you speak to me.”

 

“ _Or_?”

 

“Whatever do you mean ‘or’?”

 

“Isn’t it customary to finish your threats?”

 

“I’m not threatening you, I’m _informing_ you.”

 

Isaac opens one eye, “You should really stop talking.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’re ruining my peaceful getaway.”

 

Jackson’s unsure of what to do exactly, he’s caught between being furious and surprisingly, interested.  He dismounts from Halo and then proceeds to stand there. Apparently, his common sense has deserted him.

 

“Fine,” Isaac sits up, pats the spot next to him. “You can sit down.”

 

“Why would I sit with you?”

 

“Who else do you have to sit with?”

 

“I’ll have you know plenty of ladies and omegas want my attention; _hoards_. I‘m highly sought after, one of the most eligible alphas in the capital.”

 

 “For one so sought after you’re always alone.”

 

Jackson can’t dispute that and it irritates him. He doesn’t particularly mind being alone, he prefers it in fact, he is the best company he can have, but something about the way Isaac says it, makes him feel self conscious.  Jackson truthfully doesn’t have anything else to do. While it’s true he’s being hounded by social climbing ladies of the court, he has no desire to be around them. They get so tedious. His one friend Daniel, is gone on a voyage for Indian spice or something.

 

“This better not soil my breeches.” Jackson slowly lowers himself down to the grass. “These are expensive.” Isaac doesn’t respond. “Imported from Italy--”

 

“Your breeches will be fine, _Sir_ Jackson.”

 

Surprisingly, Isaac doesn’t speak further, just lays back down hands crossed behind his head and closes his eyes. The only sound is the bubbling of the fresh water creak, the sharp scent of grass and pine.

 

It _is_  peaceful. Jackson’s lived here all of his life and yet he never  stopped to be like this.

 

“It’s nice, isn’t?” Isaac asks, voice smug as if he is privy to Jackson’s thoughts. “ Admit it, you like it here.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“You didn’t need to, I can tell.  You’re not wound up so tight.”

 

“I’m hardly ever ‘wound up.’”

 

"You are. " Isaac laughs, it's surprisingly loud and he even snorts; not at all like the restrained giggles and titters of court. “My grandfather used to say that a man who is wound tightly  is like a wooden soldier, amusing to watch and going nowhere.”

 

Jackson huffs, “And exactly where did _he_ go again?”

 

The laughter fades, “He passed in the war.”

 

“He was a soldier?”

 

“Grandpa was in the house when it was set on fire.”  Isaac’s voice is emotionless. “He perished with the Hale family.”

 

“I.” Jackson looks away, “ I’m sorry.”

 

“We’ve all lost in the war. "  Isaac digs a hand into the earth, brings up rich brown soil that stains his palms. "That’s why I do this.”

 

“Play in the dirt?”

 

“ _Live_.” Isaac corrects. “All of this is your family’s land, and  I bet you haven’t taken a moment to enjoy it, to listen to the creak, watch the birds and fish. You own it, but you don’t appreciate it.”

 

“So you _do_ know you’re trespassing.”

 

“I’m simply giving nature it’s due, without the moon calling me to do so. Dirt on my hands feels just as good as dirt beneath my paws."

 

“I have a lord’s responsibility," The words are much sharper then  Jackson intends. “I’m no common servant to dally in the woods.”

 

For some inexplicable reason, Isaac makes him feel inadequate, defensive of his life and choices. Jackson rarely wishes he could bite his tongue but he resents the withdrawal he can feel at his words.

 

“Do you want to hear an amusing story?”

 

Jackson regards him warily, “I suppose.”

 

“A peacock spreading its gorgeous tail mocked a Crane that passed by, ridiculing the ashen hue of its plumage and saying, ‘I am robed, like a king, in gold and purple and all the colors of the rainbow; while you have not a bit of color on your wings. ‘True,‘ replied the Crane; ‘but I soar to the heights of heaven and lift up my voice to the stars, while you walk below, like a cock, among the birds of the dunghill."  

 

By the time Isaac has finished speaking Jackson feels heat creeping up into his cheeks. It‘s clear who the peacock is. “You’ve gravely insulted me.”

 

“I’ve merely recited a story, my lord.” Isaac feigns innocence but the gleam in his eyes proves he knows the thrust of his words. “Why, what meaning did you decipher?”

 

“My father told me the same tales as a child,” Jackson snaps. “Fine feathers don't make fine birds.”

 

“You would do well to remember that lesson.”

 

Jackson opens his mouth to cut the servant down to size and is utterly horrified to find himself at loss for words.

 

As he sputters like a fool, Isaac looks over at him triumphantly, smile starting at his eyes and spreading to his lips. His entire face transforms. He goes from insolent servant to enchanting nymph, the bits of straw in his hair catching the gold of the fading light.

 

Deliberately averting his gaze, Jackson gives. “Alright, _Sir_ Isaac, I concede.”

 

“You put up a valiant fight, but your opponent outwitted you, outfoxed you--”

 

“And accepts victory with such humility.” 

 

“I do not think you will concede to me so easily again, you cannot fault me for celebrating.”

 

“Well, all this appreciation of nature and battle of wit has stained my breeches.”

 

 “It’s just dirt.” Isaac stretches as he lays back down on the grass and Jackson’s eyes follow his bare calves. “Come by Derek’s tonight, I’ll take care of you.”

 

The words are innocently provocative, and Jackson is completely sure Isaac doesn’t know how he sounds. It’s a refreshing change from the carefully calculated innuendos of court, that can be the only reason why he’s reacting as he is. There’s no way he is actually attracted to an unkept servant, he must be sexually frustrated. It’s been weeks since he last had Amanda spread out under him.

 

Now, here he is sitting in a secluded spot along the creek as the sun sets in orange and yellow.  

 

With Derek’s body servant. 

 

Jackson watches the luminescent hues expand in a myriad of orange in the sky and starts to panic when he feels his pulse quicken. He can scent Isaac now, musky and sweet, and it‘s enough to make his mouth water. He’s never been tempted by an omega, much less a male one.

 

From the corner of his eye, Jackson looks at his profile. Isaac’s eyes are closed again, sandy lashes fanning across his cheeks and a smile playing at his lips. His mouth is slightly parted, wide and pink, and despite his best efforts Jackson can feel himself reacting.

 

What does it matter if he dallies with the staff? It’s common practice and harmless fun. They’re matched in words, it’s time to see if their bodies are similarly aligned. Slowly,  Jackson moves to his side until he’s leaning above Isaac, then brings his hand up gently and very slowly, to rest against his cheek. At the touch, Isaac’s eyes snap open and stare directly up into his.

 

When Isaac makes no move, neither to flee or return the advance, Jackson smiles, prickly thorns or not he would be no different from his other affairs.  Fuck it, Jackson thinks and leans down to graze his mouth over Isaac’s soft lips.

 

The whores at Belle’s Tavern have nothing on this. Isaac’s sweet breath fans across his tingling mouth and Jackson brushes his mouth over his more insistently, seeking a response. Isaac jerks forward,  lets out a small sound in the back of his throat which Jackson catches with his lips and eagerly drinks in, hands moving up to cradle his finely boned face, holding him still while his mouth slants over his.

 

Isaac tilts his head, the action so slight that Jackson thinks he imagined the encouragement for a moment until he feels the hesitant touch of his tongue against his lips. Fingers twist in the fine material of his riding coat and Jackson moves his mouth over Isaac’s , sucking on Isaac’s tongue slowly. Judging by the gasp, Isaac seems to like that, so Jackson does it over and over again. He relishes each shudder and labored breath he draws out of him, returns his soft moans with his own throaty growls.

 

Surprisingly, Jackson _likes_ the way Isaac thrashes against him, under him, the way his hands work into his hair; the give and the take. In this way they can be equals.

 

Eager for more, Jackson allows his weight to fall between Isaac’s legs and just once, for a few excruciatingly sweet moments, rubs his stiff length into the hot cradle of his thighs. Dear God, he can already imagine how good it would be with the boy, Isaac would be tight and hot, would definitely leave scratches down his back. 

 

Jackson’s a man of few words, he wants to fuck him, says as much against Isaac’s trembling lips. The heat and the intensity are suddenly gone, and his cheek is stinging from a harsh blow.

 

“What in the hell?” Jackson is stunned enough to be at a disadvantage, stumbling down onto his ass when Isaac shoves him off hard. " Why on earth would you strike me?"

 

Isaac’s eyes are bewildered. “Are you mad?” 

 

“What of it?” Jackson spits. “We can pass the time and I can assure you that I am a marvelous lover.”

 

“You’re disgusting.” 

 

“Are you suddenly playing the innocent? You didn’t seem to think I was disgusting just seconds ago when you moaned beneath me like one of Belle’s best whores.”

 

Isaac‘s face goes white and Jackson is just about to take back his stupidly, cruel words when Isaac moves with inhuman speed and he finds himself on the wrong end of a steel blade. 

 

Jackson gasps as the sharp tip digs into this abdomen, jumps back. “Do you know the penalty for assaulting a nobleman?”

 

“No, nor do I care.” The blade moves up an inch, slices through the delicate material of his clasp. “Touch me again and I’ll split you from throat to balls.”

 

 

* **James** *

 

“I was rather surprised but pleased when your runner accepted my invitation.” 

 

James and Stiles are seated in the formal parlor. He had hoped the day would prove warm enough for the gardens but the wind is brisk and rain heavy. 

 

“Considering you declined the first three.”

 

Stiles smiles, fingers fidgeting with the white, lace edge of the tablecloth. “Well, it was your persistence that got me.”

 

“Then I’m pleased to be stubborn.”

 

“Clever.” Jackson mutters from behind and James stiffens.

 

James sets his glass down with a tight smile, “Pardon?”

 

“Just thinking aloud.” Jackson’s ice blue eyes are amused at his expense. “Don’t mind me.”

 

James wishes not for the first time that the second eldest was not the chaperone. He knew one was required but they’re meant to be silent, Jackson has been snickering and laughing at everything he does. It’s rather off putting. 

 

Forcing himself to ignore the jackass, James rings for more refreshments. The maid arrives instantly, silver platter in hand. James has planned the menu himself, using every bit of knowledge he gleaned from Stiles that night. "You favor almond cookies, correct?"

 

" Almond scones, cookies, I have no preference." Stiles pauses, and James think he looks much more delectable than any sweet in his emerald  and brass jacket, gilded collar skimming the graceful line of his neck." Well, that's not true. Derek had a cook, Gertie, she made the most marvelous apple tarts; I was fortunate enough to have Derek bother her for box loads. He'd bring me two every time he visited."

 

It's hard to not notice how much Stiles speaks of Duke Hale. Clearing his throat, James changes the topic.  “I heard about the incident at _Frasier’s_.”

 

“Ah,” Stiles laughs. “I should warn you, nothing comes between my books and me. I was prepared to cause a scene, it was a good thing Derek came along.”

 

James grits his teeth, mutters,  "He always seems to be underfoot."  Too caught up in his tale, Stiles doesn't hear him but judging by the chuckle Jackson does.

 

“He walked right up to the shopkeeper and told him to hand it over.”

 

“ _Why_ was he at _Frasier’s_?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Stiles eyes light up. “But it was probably to get a book. Derek’s library is a thing of legend. I would spend all day in there, his tastes are even better than mine.”

 

“So he likes poetry?”

 

Stiles laughs uproariously, “Derek? He’d rather be thrown into the sea then read poetry. He likes the classics, The Iliad,  Mythology.”

 

“But you--”

 

“I remember , the summer I turned twelve, Derek surprised me with a leather bound print of The Odyssey, entirely in Latin. I had to read it with my tutor. Derek says that the best way to learn the languages spoken around us, are through Latin; he was right. I picked up Italian and French easily after that--

 

“Stiles.” Jackson interrupts and for once James is grateful. 

 

“What?” Stiles frowns, “I’m in the middle of a story.”

 

“Yeah,” Jackson drawls, "One about Derek, while poor Viscount James has to listen politely.” 

 

A blush suffuses Stiles cheeks, " I apologize."

 

" It's quite alright, I understand Duke Hake is like one of your brothers." James watches Stiles reaction carefully, and sure enough his eyes fall to his lap. It is as he suspected. James stands to his feet, " Come, the rains have ceased, and the roses are in bloom."

 

In time, James will make Stiles forget Duke Hale.

 

* **Derek** *

 

This tea party signifies Derek’s freedom. The queen’s request to attend her garden party is the last of  the royal commands he must fulfill.  After this is over, he’s free to return North.

 

The one good that has come from this experience is the forced exercise. The capital doesn’t afford him the luxury of laying in bed with the bed curtains drawn, he’s coped for three weeks, it’s proven to him that he can manage. His pack is counting on him to be their leader when he returns, living with the pain is now a part of that.

 

Midway through,  Derek manages to slip away from the King and outside.  The heat of summer is rapidly fading, air cool and brisk.  Wandering out further towards the stables, Derek sits down heavily on a bale of hay. His hands go to his thigh, fingers massaging the knotted muscles in an effort to ease the excruciating pain. 

 

"Are you alright?"

 

Derek stops his movements instantly, “Let me guess, you needed air.”

 

“What a horrible joke.” Stiles smiles back awkwardly, hat in hand. He motions to the empty space. “May I sit?”

 

“Of course.”

 

* **Stiles** *

 

“Queen Mary has spinach stuck in her teeth.” Stiles blurts out when it becomes clear the conversation will have to be carried by him alone. “It's a rather large piece too, it’s a miracle she doesn’t even sense it! "

 

Derek laughs, and Stiles feels immensely proud.

 

 “Everyone sees it, but no one dares to point it out. I tried to tell her but my father nearly had my head. That's why I came out here."

 

“They’re all afraid of offending her.” Derek explains. “Court politics are a curious thing to observe.”

 

“I’d be more offended if at the end of the day I saw my reflection in a looking glass and realized I had a whole salad stuck between my front teeth and no one informed me.”

 

“That big?”

 

“Colossal.” Stiles grins, “It’s a strange thing to be feared  and yet revered.”

 

“I know the feeling all too well.”

 

“Are people afraid of you?”

 

“They are.”

 

“They shouldn't be."  Their last meeting is still fresh in his mind, but it matters not what Derek claims, he knows the truth. "I may not know you now, the man who came out of the war, but your servant speaks highly of you."

 

Derek's face is grim. "Isaac is a busybody."

 

"I like him."

 

"I'm not surprised."

 

It's no secret that Derek is planning on leaving soon, and although he is but inches away Stiles feels as if he's already gone. In all honesty, he's felt that way from his arrival.

 

Derek jumps a bit when Stiles carefully places his hand over his larger one, curls his fingers over Derek's calloused palms.

 

"What are you doing?" 

 

"I'm holding your hand." 

 

It's not missed that Derek does not pull away. 

 

"It's improper."

 

"I did this all the time before."

 

"Why do it now?"

 

Stiles answers honestly, "Because I miss you." 

 

* **Derek** *

 

It's madness, absolute madness that has brought Derek here. He'd been refused at the Stilinski door, turned away by an embarrassed housekeeper who used to welcome him daily, and although it wasn't wholly unexpected, it still stings fiercely. Matthew and Jackson had been the brothers he'd never had, and yet it's Taylor, the one most withdrawn who goes after him as he walks to his carriage and tells him that Stiles is grooming his stallion.

 

So here he is, at the stables because Stiles had held his hand at a garden party and said he misses him.

 

Derek can tell the instant Stiles becomes aware of him, his entire body goes still, face tilting to the direction of the wind. There's never been that much happiness brought on by so little. 

 

"Derek!" Stiles doesn't hide his pleasure, but wears it boldly, dropping the curry comb and going to him. "What are you doing here?"

 

It's humbling and terrifying, the way Stiles is looking up at him. He's starting to realize why Jackson had warned him away. As much as he insists Stiles is a child, as much as he refuses to mate, here he is.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Derek opens the folds of his coat.

 

" A puppy!" Stiles exclaims, "Yours?"

 

"Yours." Derek place the small ball of fur in Stiles outstretched hands, watches her wriggle close to his palm. “She’s newly weaned, there was an entire cart of them at the marketplace. The larger ones are more popular, males for hunting and.... I don’t know but she didn’t look like she could survive a few more days.”

 

“So you thought of me.”

 

“I thought of Minoa, how inconsolable you were when she passed.

 

“A child's grief, she was old and ailing but I just wanted a companion.”

 

“You're  overdue for another companion.” It’s hard not to be embarrassed, but this is the reason he came, let his battered pride suffer yet another blow.“Uh, Happy Birthday.”

 

Stiles entire face lights up, and Derek feels horrifically giddy at the happiness such a  simple gesture elicits. “You remembered.”

 

“It’s difficult to forget when it’s the same day as Laura’s.”

 

The happiness bleeds out of his face, “Sorry, I --”

 

“Don’t apologize.” Derek forces a smile, “Today is yours as well, your eighteenth birthday, an important one for omega.” His heat will be moving a regular cycle, he'll be able to become a father.

 

“It is.” Stiles holds the squirming  puppy close to his chest. “I love her, thank you. "

 

Derek looks at the gravel along the ground and thinks of the two day journey home. “So what are you thinking of calling her? Minoa the second?”

 

“No,” Stiles looks down at her, “She’s her own woman.”

 

“If you’re taking suggestions, when I first set eyes on her, she reminded me of a cloud; white and lazy.”

 

Holding the little ball of fur out in front of him, Stiles addresses the puppy gravely, “And what do you think of that, miss? Cloud Stilinkski.”

 

The puppy sniffs, eyes blinking closed.

 

“She likes it.” Stiles announces, “Cloud it is.”

 

“Stiles!”

 

Johns voice signals the end of the visit.

 

"I should go.”

 

“I,” Stiles lays a hand on his forearm. “My father is hosting a ball for my coming of age, if you--”

 

“We both know I would not be welcome, besides, I’ll be a quarter of the way home by then.”

 

“So this is goodbye.”

 

“It is,” Derek is surprised at how difficult it is to say the words. “ I wish you the best.”

 

“Of course.” The tremor in Stiles voice keeps Derek’s feet firmly rooted. " I wish you the same." 

 

When Stiles takes a step closer, polished tips of his riding boots hitting Derek’s he knows he should turn away. He’s not meant to be alone with him, touching him.

 

Stiles looks up at him eyes clouded with resignation, “Thank you, Derek.” He leans up slightly, kiss meant to fall on Derek’s cheek and the same madness that brought him overtakes him once more.

 

Derek turns his face at the last possible moment. Their lips connect for a brief moment and it sparks like current through his entire body. 

 

The taste of sugar and mint, the scent of vanilla and pine, will forever be imprinted on his memory. Briefly, Derek thinks this is what he's been waiting for since he returned, that feeling that someone believes in him unconditionally, cares for him. That he has family and belongs somewhere. This is what a kiss is meant to be, a promise that will never be fulfilled and for the loss all the sweeter.

 

When Derek moves away, Stiles eyes are wide,  pupils dilated.

 

“You…kissed me.”

 

“Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.”

 

“ _But you kissed me_.”

 

“My apologies, before I came here, I had quite a lot to-”

 

“You weren’t drinking.” Stiles interjects hotly, “ I didn’t taste alcohol on your lips, so stop lying.”

 

Inwardly, Derek curses. He’d given into his base instincts and just took. “You should forget about it.”

 

“Forget? Derek, I’ve wanted you to kiss me for ages! I want you to kiss me because  I’ve known you were meant for me.”

 

“I can't  be your mate, Stiles.”

 

“You can, if you’d just let yourself.”

 

“You dream of love and fairytales I can offer you neither.”

 

“Tell me not to accept.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Tomorrow, James is going to ask my father to accompany him South to meet his family; tell me not to accept, give me ... _something_. And I won’t go with him.”

 

It would be so easy to give in to whatever this is, to let emotion guide him and try to become that person again. But he‘d done that before and thousands had suffered. 

 

Even as his heart pounds, as his alpha fights to take control at the thought of Stiles betrothed to another-- _beneath_ another --, Derek meets Stiles‘ eyes, keeps his voice steady. “What right do I have to dictate where you go and with whom?”

 

“Derek.” His name is said in disbelief.

 

“I wish you well in all your endeavors.”

 

* **Derek** *

 

The morning sky stretches over them, grey and bleak. Derek hadn’t been able to sleep,  he’d spent the night staring at the ceiling tasting Stiles on his lips. 

 

It’s better that it ends this way, Stiles gets a memento of his childhood crush and Derek can leave with his pride. No one, especially not a prized omega like Stiles, would want a crippled mate, one who is financially burdened. Derek can’t give Stiles the strength of a fully capable alpha and he can’t give him the riches of Duke Boyd or Viscount James.

 

His lands are bloodied, the earth scorched.

 

“It’ll be good to be back North.” Isaac draws back the curtain of the carriage, he's been  unusually quiet.“There’s much to do, and I need the distraction.”

 

“From?”

 

Isaac looks away, “ From nothing.”

 

Derek attempts to make light of the sudden tension he doesn‘t understand, “A fortnight in the city and you’re already playing coy, it looks like we’re returning not a moment to soon.”

 

“Not a moment too soon.”

 

 

* **Stiles** *

 

Derek has been gone for three weeks and Stiles is expected to travel South, along with his father and brother, tomorrow. The meeting of the families signifies a coming marriage and mating. Stiles feels sick.

 

Cloud totters up to him as he lays on his bed, nudges his cheek with her wet nose. 

 

" I'm just thinking." Stiles tells her. " I wish my life was as simple as yours, eat, sleep, get my belly scratched."

 

In response, Cloud licks his chin.

 

"I'm coming in!" Without waiting for a response, Jackson barges into the room. " Father wanted me make sure you were prepared for our journey."

 

"I am." Stiles turns over onto his back and Cloud climbs up to lay on his belly. "I'm not a child that needs attending to."

 

"You  will soon be mated, so stop with the gloomy looks."

 

"Jackson, I don't think I can--"

 

"Don't finish that thought." Jackson's voice isn't harsh, but adamant. "If you were to I would have to tell father. I know the Viscount is not who you...love, but he can make you happy. Do you think  you're the first person to give up a chance at something more? You're  not, I can assure you. But the difference between you and all the other miserables wretches is this: you have a chance at happiness, seize it.

 

 

* **Stiles** *

 

It’s unheard of for an unmated omega to travel alone, and Stiles has heard enough horror stories to know why. He knows exactly what might happen to him but he just can’t obey his father in this. 

 

All he knows is that Derek has lost his entire family, that he’s living in a half burned down home, alone, and hurting while his friends have slipped back into their own lives without a thought.

 

Stiles knows that if he could just get to Derek, he could change his mind about them. He can banish all of those thoughts of not being enough, heal what Kate took from him.

 

_the difference between you and all the other miserables wretches is this: you have a chance at happiness, seize it._

 

Jackson's right, he has one chance and he must take it.

 

So with a letter of apology left on his desk, Stiles packs up his essentials for himself and Cloud in  a saddlebag and waits for nightfall. As soon as the moon hangs heavy in the sky, he saddles Blaise, and departs.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello, plot heavy chapter!  
> Added the forced marriage tag, because..well.
> 
> There is action, violence and adventure! Ha, I had a blast writing this, some parts are inspired by watching the AMAZING premiere of Spartacus--if you haven't watched it, go! Run and do it. The canon (yep, that's right CANON) gay couple Agron and Nasir, are too adorable and precious and hot and sexy for words.
> 
> Also, thank you for your continued show of support! Let me know if you want to see anything in the next chapter, or if you have any plot point :) I'm open to hearing, and maybe incorporating them.

The woods that were once comforting are now anything but. The dark shadows of the forest ceiling and floor seem to be alive with threats. Every snap or rustle makes Stiles jump, Blaise reacts to his anxiety, shies away from every overgrown bush and bramble they have to go through. The stallion has never been taken out on any journey of distance and it shows.  
  
What seemed like such a _great_ decision mere hours ago, is starting to become very questionable as the shadows engulf them.  Stiles hasn’t an idea what he was thinking, taking off alone, on his own, on a whim. If he really thinks about it, it isn’t his fault. It’s Derek’s and Jackson’s.  
  
It was _Derek’s_ kiss that reignited his hope, and that coupled with _Jackson’s_ rousing speech, well, it had all seemed quite fated then. Even if Stiles made it to Derek’s territory, there was no guarantee that the other man would even welcome him, more likely, Derek would march him right on back to the capitol.  
  
Another twig snaps and Stiles jerks back on the saddle, pulling in the reigns hard enough to make Blaise snort and come to a stop.  With mumbled words of apology and slight pressure on the stallion's sides, he urges him back into a moderate pace. At this rate, he’d be by Derek’s next year.  
  
When the moon’s light is entirely eclipsed by the trees,  Stiles is forced to stop for the night. Once he dismounts and ties Blaise’s reigns, he lays the saddle blanket on the ground and sits down, back against a tree, Cloud on his lap. The pup is shivering and Stiles is really starting to regret this.  
  
So many things he hadn’t thought about are now dominating his thoughts. The most obvious leaves him feeling ill. His reputation would be ruined, there would be no repairing the damage done if Derek didn’t accept him as a mate.  Even worse, if Derek mated with him out of a sense of duty, Stiles would be devastated.  
  
“I think I messed up.” Stiles whispers to the puppy, petting his downy head. “Badly.”  
  
Cloud barks once and blinks up at him in agreement.  
  
“But it’ll work out.” Stiles promises before he takes off his riding jacket and fashions a makeshift nest for the puppy.  Afterwards, he takes off his sword, and lays it behind him next to the base of the tree. “I promise.”  
  
* **Jackson** *  
  
Jackson’s in the midst of a very pleasant dream --one that involves Isaac putting his tongue to far better use on his cock than scathing retorts-- when his bedchamber door bursts open, ripping him out of sound sleep. His years at war make him reach for his sword.  
  
“Get up and get dressed!” Taylor demands and Jackson can barely make out his figure in the weak light of dawn. “Now!”  
  
“What is it?” It’s pure reflex to be enraged. “This better damn well be good!”  
  
“Stiles is gone.” Taylor holds up a crumpled piece of paper. “He’s traveled North, alone.”  
  
Bloody hell, the insolent brat.  
  
Jackson throws back the covers, he should’ve known.  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
“So our little Prince awakens.”  
  
The loud words make Stiles’ snap awake, disorientation giving way to alarm when he faces the group of seven strangers around him; six men and one woman. The female is the one who had spoken and is clearly the leader, she’s standing above him clad in tanned leather, legs bare and stomach revealed; the common attire of a marauder.  
  
“I have nothing of value.” Stiles’ says upfront, judging by his upended saddle bag, the raiders have already searched for themselves.  
  
“I wouldn’t say nothing.” The woman purrs, she runs a hand down Blaise’ side and his stallion snorts, stomps the ground in front of him. It’s a hostile gesture and it only makes the woman smile and toss her long, dark blonde hair. “This fine mount would fetch a tidy sum.”  
  
“He responds only to me.” Stiles states, restraining Cloud when the drowsy puppy seeks to step off the blanket, unaware of the danger. “He’s always obeyed only my voice.”  
  
“Every animal can be broken.”  The woman moves her hand away with a chuckle just as Blaise sets to bite her. “With whips and chains.” The words sends shivers down his spine. “The same as any man.”  
  
“I’m not a human.”  
  
“I know you fucking aren’t, I‘m not a bleeding idiot.”  Her amber eyes focus on him, calculating. “Have you any idea what a pretty little omega like you would fetch on the market? Enough to feed me and my men for the winter.”  
  
Slowly, Stiles spreads his fingers out behind him, searching for the hilt of his blade.  “If it’s coin or supplies you desire, my family can provide--”  
  
“I desire _you_ , omega.” She interjects, leaning close enough that her breath fans over his cheek. “Smell that?” The pheromones in the air are cloying and Stiles feels nauseous. “My _men_ desire you.”  
  
Finally, Stiles fingers encounter steel,  without hesitation he draws his blade, prods the tips into the dip of her neck.  
  
The surprise is evident in her quick inhalation of breath, and the men rush forward.  
  
“Tell them to stand down.” Stiles demands, digs the blade into the thin skin of her neck and draws blood when she doesn’t obey. “Now.”  
  
“You’re only making me horny.”  
  
“I’ll make you _headless_ if you don’t call off your hounds.”  
  
She slowly lifts her hand, and the men stop advancing. Relief distracting him, Stiles is completely unprepared when another Were comes from behind, disarms him in a blow.  
  
Unceremoniously, Stiles is hauled to his feet by a huge beta with a half healed scar running from his temple to his mouth. Cloud yips in alarm and the Were growls at him, leaving the little puppy whimpering.  
  
“He’s less than three moons.” Stiles glares at the man who is pocketing his sword. “Do you feel powerful making a pup quake? Return my blade and I’ll show you how a real man does battle.”  
  
“This one has spirit.” The man grins, face twisting when the scar pulls. “But we’ve no use for swords.”  
  
The woman smirks, cold laughter spreading through her group. “This is not court, we fight as nature intends.”  
  
“And nature intends for a group of eight to beset a single man?” Swallowing down on his fear, Stiles lifts his chin. “ That’s a _cowards_ way.”  
  
All laughter ceases.  
  
“You’re going to regret your words.” She steps closer, eyes flashing red and now Stiles knows he’s dealing with an Alpha. “I will personally see it so.”  
  
It should scare him, but a calm overtakes him. Stiles knows his own abilities. He’s observed his brothers in combat training, in Were and human form alike. How many times had Jackson drilled into him that training meant nothing in an actual battle? Before Jackson had left for War, before Stiles succumbed to his first heat, he’d  fallen at his brother’s feet often, covered in bruises.  
  
“I fear it is you who will be filled with regret.” Stiles pushes his wolf to the surface. He can feel the change over take him; short, coarse hairs stabbing through his skin, claws forming and nails elongating.  
  
“Let’s hope your bravado is not inflated stupidity.” With those last words, she shifts as do all the other betas.  
  
Her wolf is much larger than Stiles,’ muscles huge and defined, not like any other female alpha he’s encountered. Her coat is dark grey, crisscrossed with scars; she’s well accustomed to battle.  
  
Fully pushing through his shift, Stiles faces her on all fours, his mind is filled with thoughts of survival; Jackson’s voice, the cold instruction he received every time he was defeated and brought down hard.  
  
Anticipate your opponent’s attack, be agile, never remain stationary , block, counter; great skill can only be overcome by skill that is even greater.  
  
The alpha female lets out a roar, charging forward full tilt, Stiles braces, prepares to put his training to test.  
  
* **Derek** *  
  
By the time Derek returns home, he finds that the construction on the North wing is nearly complete and the East wing is well on it’s way to the same.  The starkness of the new wood and stone against the old will always serve as a reminder of what he lost. The house will always hold memories of his family, but the sad is tempered by the good. His people seem to be much happier, the harvest had been plentiful, and his interest in rebuilding has renewed their spirits.  
  
It’s still difficult  to come to terms with his past but that is what he is doing. Upon his return from the capitol, he’d had Isaac empty out the guest quarters and burn everything Kate had ever touched or owned.  
  
“If only we had the witch to burn as well.” Isaac had said over the pyre.  
  
Derek wishes the same; if Kate had been made to pay personally he could fully move on.  
  
Every day Derek walks the halls of his home, hears the echo of Cici’s giggles and Laura’s playful steps. Every time he touches the slight gouges along the dining room table, he remembers Peter, how his uncle’s restlessness drove him to carve the wood.  
  
Progress is slowly being made, and at the end of each day, Derek faces not only pain but accomplishment.  
  
And yet still,  when he lays awake in bed, leg aching, he thinks about him.  
  
Stiles.  
  
Derek thinks about what it would be like if he actually had the luxury of taking a mate. He wouldn’t be alone, he’d have someone laying next to him. There are some things he misses about Stiles, mostly the way he can just talk and talk. 

More than the pain, the silence keeps him awake.  
  
* **Isaac** *  
  
“You’ve been acting strangely.”  
  
Isaac chooses to ignore Claire and instead continues to fold linens, a task he’s not meant to do but desperately needs. The monotony keeps his mind off of more disturbing feelings.  There hasn’t been a day that’s passed without that stupid oaf crossing his mind, and Isaac is as nearly as angry at himself as he is at Jackson for daring to intrude on his personal thoughts.  
  
“Did you meet anyone interesting in the Capitol?”  
  
“No.” Isaac denies, far too quickly and Claire’s smile grows smug. “I didn’t!”  
  
“You _did_ meet someone!” Claire is newly sixteen and has stars in her green eyes. Every story is filled with romance and wonder in her mind. “Tell me all about him. What’s his name? What does he look like--oh, what color are his eyes? I bet they’re as dark and glittering as the night sky.”  
  
“How the hell would he be able to see with these dark and glittering eyes? And, it could’ve been a woman.”  
  
“Ha!” Claire throws a decorative pillow in his direction, “Knowing you, it must’ve been a man, and one of fine form to be able to turn your head.”  
  
“Unlike _you_ I don’t swoon for flowery words.” Apparently, Isaac prefers the acerbic tone of a pompous asshole. “There is much more to a man than poetry.”  
  
It still angers Isaac just how far he’d let Jackson go, he hadn’t even resisted his advances, because, shamefully he was attracted to him. His attraction had gained him coarse words and even coarser actions. For a few moments, Jackson’s touch had been gentle, passionate.  For a few  _foolish_ moments he’d thought… that Jackson could actually care about him.  
  
Isaac jerks the corner of a paisley print comforter hard, pressing the material down smooth. He would wager that Jackson would never treat the fine betas and omegas of _quality_   the way he treated him. No, Jackson would probably be all slow smiles and honeyed words as he wooed them. He’d save his careless fumbling in the grass for a servant who didn’t matter.  
  
Bastard.  
  
“Isaac!” Claire exclaims, “You’re going to tear the sheet if you pull any harder. What‘s going on with you?”  
  
“Sorry,“ He loosens his grip. “Just thinking.”  
  
“About court?”  
  
“You will find better men here, in the countryside."  
  
“But not _gentlemen_ , and that’s half the fun of romance.” Her eyes narrow and she dances closer. “I think you did meet a special man! Tell me!”  
  
“I did not meet anyone.” Isaac stares down at his hands, remembers sliding them through soft hair. “ Not anyone special.”  
  
“But you were pursued?”  
  
Jackson’s eyes flash behind his lids, bright and mocking, as he says ‘I want to fuck you.’  
  
 “I was not pursued, but _harassed_.”  
  
“If had gone with  Lord Hale, I’d  have fallen in love and gotten a lord to marry me.”  
  
“Such lofty ambitions.” Isaac picks up the neat stack of linens and heads for the closet. “But reality rarely lives up to expectations.”  
  
“You cared for him, didn’t you?”  
  
It’s hard to admit, even to himself, but he did. “A brief lapse in judgment.”  
  
“Still,” Claire sighs dreamily. “I’d wager it was still romantic.”  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
Pain splits through Stiles’ skull the moment he opens his eyes. He has no idea what happened. The last thing he remembers is having the alpha woman beneath him, her throat bared in submission.  
  
“What?” Stiles blinks at the harsh light and flinches when the alpha woman’s face comes into focus.  It’s far less pretty than before, lips swollen and eye blackened but she’s smiling widely.  
  
“About bloody time!”  She slaps him on the chest. “I thought Adam killed you!”  
  
“You…” Stiles tries to focus. “I bested you… and you _sicced_ your beta on me.”  
  
“That was not done on my command.” At Stiles’ doubtful look she arches a brow. “There is honor even among thieves, but ashes to ashes and all that. It’s the past, lets move forward. I’m Erica.”  
  
“I hit you, apologies!” The younger man leans over him, “I’m Adam.”  
  
“I’m Stiles,” He sits up cautiously, “Were you waiting for me to wake before you killed me?”  
  
Erica laughs making her look much younger and suddenly she doesn’t seem quite as fierce as she did before. “You put up an excellent fight and have earned my respect.”  
  
“Something I’ve always wanted.” Stiles mutters dryly, hand going gingerly to the back of his head. He can feel some remaining soreness. “Does your respect allow me to leave?”  
  
“Yeah,” Erica sits back on her heels. “But don’t feel rushed; stay, eat and drink.”  
  
“Lady, you _attacked_ me and threatened to sell me into slavery.”  
  
Another smile, “Sorry?”  
  
“Keep your apologies, and give me safe passage.”  
  
“Through our woods?”  
  
“Through to Hale territory.”  
  
“Are you mad? We’d be cut in half and strung from the rafters if we set foot on the Duke’s lands.”  
  
“I‘m Lord Genim Stilinkski, Duke Hale is expecting me. ” Stiles lies, “We’re… he’s my mate.”  
  
Erica looks at Adam knowingly, then back at him. “Then I suppose there’s a reward for your safe passage?”  
  
“You suppose right.”  
  
Erica’s smile is the most genuine he’s seen yet. “We’ll do it.”  
  
* **Jackson** *  
  
“The irony is that after months of being hounded by Stiles, we finally ride North without him.” Taylor muses as they ride. “Hopefully, we over take Stiles before he reaches Derek‘s.”  
  
“We better.” Jackson grits his teeth, ears burning with what people have already begun to say. They’ve set off with a group of twenty five of his father’s men. Their father has stayed behind, succumbing to poor health. “People are already talking.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter if they’re gossiping, the most important thing is that Stiles is found safe.”  
  
“He’s resourceful.” It’s the one alternative that Jackson refuses to consider. Stiles may be annoying, petulant and childish but he is his little brother. “I’m confident he’s alright.”  
  
“As am I.”  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
It’s the third day of their travels and Stiles is starting to look on the bright side. Erica and her pack, as wild as they are, have been friendly and have treated him well--barring their first meeting.  
  
The more time Stiles spends with them the more he realizes just how funny and interesting they are. Adam is only two years older than Stiles and yet he’s been everywhere, from the Mediterranean to the Orient. He’s filled with tales that leave Stiles captivated.  
  
“You mean to tell me that men actually pay for wild flowers in the capitol?” Adam shakes his head, turns to John as they walk. “Such intelligent men and yet they pay good coin for what you can pluck from the earth!”  
  
“It’s about the _arrangement_ of the flowers.”  It’s not like Stiles particularly cares one way or the other. “Though, I think it’s just as stupid as you do.”  
  
“What else will fine gentleman pay for? Horse shit?”  
  
Stiles grins, “It’s fertilizer.”  
  
“No shit!” John guffaws, beefy hand clapping him across the back. “I need to get to this fine city.”  
  
“Next time--”  
  
“Silence.” Erica calls out and  all immediately heed her order.  
  
Erica tilts her face, angles it in the direction of the wind  and inhales. No one moves, Stiles thinks some of the betas don’t even dare breathe.  
  
“The Lamarcks.” Erica turns her stallion backwards, “At least two dozens.”  
  
A ripple of apprehension descends and Stiles feels like he’s missing vital information. “The who?”  
  
“Raiders.” Adams responds, mouth tight and blue eyes worried.  
  
“You mean there are more of you?”  
  
“Another band.” Erica dismounts. “It’s good you can hold your own.” Reaching into the saddle bag, she tosses him his confiscated blade. “Fight how you’re comfortable, their numbers are nearly double ours.”  
  
Hurriedly, Stiles drops cloud behind the saddlebag, deep in a bush. “We could perhaps reason or strike a bargain--”  
  
“There is no reasoning with the Lamarcks.” All around them the men are beginning to shift, Erica’s eyes glowing so bright they look to be on fire.  “Do not let them take you alive. There is no shame in falling on your own sword.”  
  
Dread makes him sick.    
  
Doubling over, Stiles throws up the meager contents of his stomach. This isn’t sparring, it’s not even one on one combat, this is full fledged battle, where blood and death are a certainty.  
  
“Stiles,” Adam jerks him upright as the sounds of hooves amplify. The riders are nearly upon them. “It’s too late to retreat. There is no lord among us now, you defend yourself or die, none will do it for you. What do you chose?”  
  
Fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, Stiles swallows hard, takes strength in the other man‘s presence at his back. Adam is the only one who has not shifted. “I will fight.”  
  
* **Jackson** *  
  
As soon as his runner returns with the acceptance of their arrival, Jackson urges his mount ahead and  charges through the gates into the courtyard.  Some of Derek’s pack have gathered to watch the commotion, his watchmen however, are not on their guard.  
  
With a notable stiffness, Derek  descends the stone steps to meet him clad in his usual black robes.  “Lord Stilinkski,” He gives each of them a curt bow. “Good day.”  
  
Jackson dismounts after Taylor, greets Derek in the same manner. “Good Day, Lord Hale.”  
  
“Apologies for the abrupt arrival.” Taylor says, “But we are here on pressing matters.”  
  
A slight frown, and Derek looks between them and then to the mounted, armed men riding behind. “What brings you--”  
  
“You know very well what bring me here.” Jackson snaps, dispensing with all formality even as Taylor grabs his sleeve to restrain him. “I want my brother delivered to me, and I want that done now.”  
  
“ _Your brother_?”  
  
“ _Stiles_ , damn you!” Jackson hisses. “I know he’s here.”  
  
“Stiles is missing?!”  
  
Taylor’s face goes white, and he flanks Derek‘s other side. “He’s not here?”  
  
“You allowed him to set off on his own?” Derek accuses, marching over to Jackson. His finger jabs into his chest, punctuating his words. “You bloody _idiot_! The forest is filled with bandits and murderers. How could you let that happen?”  
  
“How could I? This is _your_ fault!” Adrenaline and worry drive him forward. Uncaring of the watchmens’ hands going to their swords, Jackson shoves Derek back. “You just had to come back into the capital and put foolish ideas in his head!”  
  
“I did nothing of the kind--”  
  
Jackson scoffs. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know where that wretched mongrel dog came from? You’ve been sniffing around, making bullshit promises and you lured him to your hovel!”  
  
“Are you sure it wasn’t all of your sweet words that set him running for refuge?” Derek snarls back, eyes flashing. “ I wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles left just to be away from you, you _abusive_ asshole!”  
  
“Bastard.” Jackson sneers, smarting at the truth of the words. “I’ll leave you twice the cripple when I’m done with you.”  
  
“I’d love to see you try.”  
  
“Jackson!” Taylor shouts, cutting through the tension. “That’s enough, both of you. Stiles is not here, which means he must’ve gotten lost. We need to look for him, not argue like a bunch of children.”  
  
The standoff continues, and when Derek’s eyes slide away Jackson catches him by the elbow. “If anything happens to him, I will _personally_ see you dragged through the streets and crucified.”  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
The battle feels like chaos, the world is a confusing whirl of terror and adrenaline. The clash of steel against steel reverberates through his entire body.  
  
The first man who sets upon him is burly, wields his sword with a strength Stiles could never hope to match and yet he has no choice. He’s quickly put on the defensive, forced to parry blows that leave him reeling and giving ground.  
  
Briefly,  Stiles twists to catch the man off guard only to be  assailed from the left.  He’d barely been fending off the one, and now there were two.  
  
“Stiles!” Adam calls in warning and he does the only thing he can think of drops to his knees to avoid a beheading and thrust forward. His blade slices the man at the knee.  
  
“You little shit!” The man bellows enraged. “I’ll kill you!”  
  
Normally, that would be enough to terrify him but Stiles is too occupied with countering another attack. All around them, men are falling, Erica reigning in the midst of it all. She fights with a  ferocity that speaks to her position.  
  
Adam roars next to him and Stiles turns to find himself staring into the face of death, steel coming for his neck. The other man  parries the blow,  sword swinging from both hands to slice through flesh.  
  
Shock courses through him as Stiles watches  Adam kill two men. He’s never been this close to death, it’s stunning and horrific. Blood trickles down his neck and Stiles is unsure if it’s his or another.  
  
“You idiot.” Adam growls, “ Do you want to die?”  
  
“I--” Stiles tires to answer but Adam is gone, three men falling upon him.  
  
Without thought, Stiles rushes to defend, plunges his sword between the first man’s shoulder blades. The body jerks, the scent of blood thickening.  
  
He’s just _killed_ a man.  
  
The Lamarcks are retreating, leaving their wounded behind. Numb, Stiles watches Adam and Clint kill the injured, they don’t linger, swift blows to end suffering.  
  
“Victory!” Erica howls, blood dripping from her naked body.  
  
The men join her, even John who’s bleeding heavily, face ashen, is smiling.  
  
“You alright?” Adam hooks an arm around his shoulders. “You’re a fierce warrior, when not distracted.”  
  
“I…I’m fine.”  
  
“First battle wound and all?”  
  
“What?” Stiles blinks down at his hand, notices for the first time the blood coming from his abdomen. “That bastard got me.”  
  
“And I got his head.” Adam hugs him tight, and despite propriety, Stiles turns into him and returns the embrace. He grits his teeth against the pain. He’ll heal soon, days at the most. “Don’t vomit, you’ll lose all respect. You’ll be fine.” Adam touches his forehead to Stiles’ briefly, “Come, we’ll see to John and then we move North.”  
  
  
* **Derek** *  
  
The news of a band of riders is cause for alarm. The trumpets sound and torches are raised. A few men may lead thousands. No one is expected and the war is still not a distant memory.  
  
 As quickly as the  banners are raised, they descend.    
  
“My lord,” His lieutenant, Michael, meets him in the courtyard.  
  
The band of riders are strung up behind him, shackled to one another. From what Derek can see and scent, they are filthy, matted with mud and blood.  The only alpha among them, a blond woman, is cursing and screaming at all the bystanders, yelling about lies and betrayal…and calling them all cocksuckers.  
  
It‘s not as if Derek has a Dungeon to keep them in before he ships the bandits to the royals. “See them to the stables, we’ll hold them there.”  
  
“Uh…my lord, this ruffian claims to know you.” The Lieutenant moves out of the way and Derek is filled with dread. Stiles is among the group, face smudged with dirt and hair tangled.  
  
Derek has a massive headache. “Stiles.”  
  
“Nice to see you again.” Stiles smiles, “I feel very welcome.”  
  
When neither speak, Michael ventures hesitantly, “What should I do with them now?”  
  
Derek suddenly feels tired, and Stiles’ rueful smile doesn’t help matters.  “Untie them.”  
  
“All?”  
  
Judging by Stiles’ nod,  he indeed knows these criminals. “All of them.”  
  
“That’s right!” The blond woman shoves one of his men as soon as she’s free. “I told you _cocksuckers_ we were escorting a _Lord_ , but did anyone listen ? No! Everything I said--”  
  
“Erica!” Stiles snarls.  “Just be quiet.”  
  
“You,” Derek grabs Stiles arm, yanks him forward. “Come with me.”  
  
“Wait! I _promised_ Erica that she’d be rewarded--”  
  
“Carl,” Derek says over his shoulder, “Welcome our guests, see to their comfort.”  
  
The moment they’re alone, Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand.  He can’t believe that he’d actually wanted to see Stiles just two day ago, had been worried sick. Yet, now, when he’s right in front of him all he feels is angry and helpless.  
  
“Have you any idea what you’ve done?” Derek’s roars. “The _consequences_ of your actions?”  
  
“…does that mean you’re not happy to see me?”  Stiles has the gall to try and be humorous. “I thought you’d at least give me a smile.”  
  
“Stiles, I don’t think you comprehend just what you’ve done.”  
  
“I do know what I‘ve just done, but it’s for the best.” Stiles’ eyes are bright, fervent and to Derek’s utter shock he launches himself into his arms, mouth on his before he can even think of turning away. Stiles’ lips are clammy, clumsy and insistent. “You’ll see… it’ll all be fine, capital! A bloody f-fucking good time.”  
  
Derek pushes him back, the smell of mud and blood assailing his senses. “Are you insane? Kissing me and using such coarse language--”  
  
“You kissed me, you kissed me first!” All bravado is replaced by sadness. “You need me, I had to come.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“If you would stop shutting me out--”  
  
“I don’t need you!” Anger propelling him, Derek grabs a hold of his thin shoulders, shakes him in frustration.  “What the _hell_ is it going to take for you to understand that? You think only of your wants and needs, you care not for my wishes! You’re a child, and a spoiled one at that! Taking off without a care while dozens of men risk life and limb to see your safe return.” Another hard shake, “Just what where you doing among  _criminals_? You’ve _obliterated_ any chance of a respectful union! Do you finally fucking get that?”  
  
“I…” Stiles stares up at him and Derek finally takes notice of the grey pallor of his skin, the sweat lining his brow. “I’m sorry.” He whispers just before he goes limp, falling forward in a dead faint.  
  
  
* **Isaac** *  
  
“Good Morning, Derek.” Isaac carries the breakfast tray into Derek‘s bedchamber, same as he‘s done for the past two days and sets it down on the table even though he knows that Derek won‘t eat it. “Has there been any change?”  
  
Derek doesn’t look away from Stiles as he sleeps. “His fever broke late last night.”  
  
“That’s good news,” Isaac says slowly, he’s not sure why Derek looks so distressed. “Soon he’ll regain consciousness. Why are you so upset?”  
  
“You didn’t hear what I said to him.”  
  
“On the contrary, the entire castle did.”  
  
Derek winces, “I was that loud?”  
  
“You were screaming.”  
  
Shame floods his face, and Derek bows his head, looks back  down at Stiles’ pale face. “I didn’t mean any of it… I need him to be alright.”  
  
The blood and grime had been cleared away to find an infected wound. The physician had told them it was highly unusual for a Were to be affected as such unless they were young or weakened. Apparently, the  band the group had encountered had laced their blade with wolfs bane.  
  
“Tell him your true feelings when he wakes.” Isaac drops a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Every day is an opportunity to change the past.”  
  
* **Jackson** *  
  
Jackson is furious.  
  
When Derek had sent news of Stiles’ safe arrival, among a group of filthy thieves, they’d ridden hard day and night to return to his stronghold.  
  
Jackson had been prepared to greet his brother, and then drag him back to the capital, instead he had walked in on this. Derek Hale in bed with Stiles.  
  
“You bastard!” Jackson yells, “This is how you go about things in the North?”  
  
Derek jerks out of sleep, face lined with confusion, “What--”  
  
“I return to find my brother, in your bed--”  
  
“He’s ill!”  
  
“According to you! There’s no other choice then, you’ll have to mate.”  
  
Derek gapes, “You‘re mad.”  
  
“I don’t care what you think I am! My brother’s honor has been compromised and you will right your wrong.”  
  
“You know I haven’t lain a single hand on him.”  
  
“And what does the rest of society know?” Jackson had thought of these exact words as he had ridden here. “That Stiles has been up here for a week, _without_ a chaperone and  with an _unmated_ alpha. It matters not what actually occurred, but what all will assume occurred.”  
  
“Jackson, don‘t do this.”  
  
“It’s too late.” Jackson cuts him off, voice carrying into the hall where Derek knows his men are listening. “You will mate with my brother, Duke Hale, _within a fortnight_ , or I demand satisfaction in combat.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this story is such a blast to write! I love playing in this universe, the characters are so fun to write :)
> 
> Let me know what you all think, and again what you want to see.
> 
> Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for all the super nice words and lovely comments, i gobble them up :) I love encouragement! And i love all of your ideas.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!  
> Point out glaring mistakes, and be kind, please.

* **Derek** *  
  
The entire affair is the epitome of drama and Derek knows Jackson wouldn’t have had it any other way.  Per Jackson’s request, they meets just outside of the western cornfields at dawn, high upon a hill with the caverns behind them.  
  
The weather is bleak, sky gray and the damp of the morning dew penetrates the outer layers of his cloak.  Derek had spent the night before coming to terms with his decisions, as much as he’d resisted, he has no choice but to mate with Stiles, but he wouldn’t do it at the command of another.  
  
Jackson is standing at attention as he approaches, twelve of his men lined up behind him equally somber.  He’s dressed in white, from the top of his gleaming boots to his embellished coat and Derek _really_ cannot wait to toss him into the mud of the freshly tilled earth.  There isn’t a doubt in Derek’s mind that he won’t best Jackson, it’s been this way their entire lives.  
  
Taylor is standing to the left of his brother, face pale and hands clasped tightly behind his back. He looks anxious… and upset. The reason for his alarm becomes apparent when Derek sees the silver handle pistols held by a footmen.  
  
“Duke Hale.” Jackson addresses him grimly. “Do you continue to refuse to right the wrong that you have done to my family?” When Derek doesn’t respond, Jackson smiles coldly, “Then I demand satisfaction; your choice of weapon.”  
  
“Fine.” Answering the silent plea in Taylor’s eyes, Derek selects the sword. “This isn’t a fight to the death.”  
  
“When I’m through you’ll wish it was.”  
  
“Does memory escape you?” Derek shifts his weight unto his heels, weighing the sword in his right hand as their men give them wide berth. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve set you on your back.”  
  
Expression  murderous, Jackson unsheathes his sword. “You’re no longer dealing with a cub, but a man.”  
  
“And you no longer face half my potential.” Like a familiar memory, the heat of battle courses through him, and Derek pushes the sharp pain of his leg to the background. “En guarde.”  
  
Their swords connect with a crash to rival thunder, and Derek realizes two things by the fourth parry and first bead of sweat that rolls down his neck. First, he truly _isn’t_ dealing with the Jackson he knew, the man before him has acquired much more skill in hand to hand combat and no longer relies on formality to his detriment.  Jackson fights like a man possessed, anger his guide, and it’s evident that it’s much more than Stiles’ future on his mind. The second thing Derek realizes is that he can prevail if he can endure.  Jackson’s skilled but he doesn’t have stamina, during war he was a medic, worked with the surgeon and not on the front lines. He’s never had to fight for more then an hour, Derek however, knows that exhaustion well.  
  
Derek uses his experience to gain ground, counters every well placed thrust and blow. After several minutes, he’s starting to tire, not from exertion but from his leg.  It’s undoubtedly no mistake that Jackson consistently attacks from his left, always forces Derek to shoulder his weight on the damaged tendons and bone. He knows he can’t keep this up for long, so despite his better judgment he draws blood, slices a shallow line from Jackson’s abdomen to mid chest.  
  
In response, Jackson doesn’t panic like Derek expects, doesn’t even flinch but regroups even as the red bleeds over his whites. Desperate for an end, Derek goes for his throat and its as if Jackson anticipated the move. He twists away sharply and before Derek can turn to block, the flat of his sword comes down hard across Derek’s back. The blow pushes him forward, forces all of his weight down onto his bad leg. Blinding white pain lances through him, and  Derek stumbles, heel digging into the dirt.  
  
No one expects him to rise, and from the pace of Jackson’s boots in front of him Derek knows the element of surprise will bring the duel to a finish.  The glint of steel passes before his eyes and with a silent apology to his leg, Derek rolls back, absorbs the agony the strain  puts on his muscle as he springs into a crouch. Sword raised, he charges forward, shoulder connecting with Jackson’s hard enough to force him to the ground.  
  
Derek levels the end of his blade right about his pulse.  
  
It all happens in a span of less than three seconds, and Jackson looks up at him shell shocked.  
  
Derek won’t be able to stand for much longer. “Yield.”  
  
Jackson’s face is rigid, anger evident in every line of his expression as his mouth opens and closes several times in aborted attempts at speech. Finally, he relents.  “I…I yield.”  
  
“Accepted.” Derek steps back, hands his sword to Clint and focuses on making it to his horse without falling. He stops. “And Jackson?”  
  
“Haven’t you had your pound of flesh?”  
  
“Send for your father, I’ll mate with Stiles at the next full moon.”  
  
“If you were planning on mating with him, why?” Disbelief and outrage color Jackson’s tone. “ _Why_ the hell would you go through all of this?”  
  
“To show you that you don’t control every thing and everyone around you.”  
  
“You’re an ass.”  
  
“An ass who’s still a better man than you.”  
  
* **Isaac** *  
  
It’s curiosity that drives Isaac to rise before dawn and seek the caverns. The entire castle is abuzz at the challenge to their Duke but the duel is not open to audience, Derek had been clear.  Logically, Isaac had stolen a peek at the summons and snuck out before anyone else so he could watch. The caverns offer the perfect vantage point for viewing.  
  
It’s curiosity alone that makes him care so much about seeing it. At least that’s what Isaac told himself before he arrived, and yet, as he watches the near hour long duel, holds his breath when Derek’s sword cuts through Jackson’s jacket and brings blood to soak his clothes, he has to face that it’s more.  
  
The way Derek walks away, steps slow and dragging, makes him worry. He knows the stress on his leg will leave him in substantial pain for the next few days.  Isaac makes a mental note to draw a hot bath and go to the physician for medication.  
  
Jackson remains even after his men take their leave. The anger he wore when facing Derek melts away to dejection. Isaac watches him push his sword into the earth and anchor it, his hair nearly gold in the rising sunlight. It’s clear he doesn’t take defeat well, a man as proud as Jackson wouldn’t.  
  
When Isaac returns to the village, there’s a large group gathered outside of the cottage where Stiles’ escorts have been housed since his arrival. Too caught up in taking care of Stiles, Isaac hasn’t checked on them once, assumed they would see to their own needs.  
  
Four of the raiders are gathered at the doorway.  
  
Isaac approaches, “What’s the commotion?”  
  
“Like any of you _vultures_ care! Not one of you cocksuckers sent a physician , no one even let us know.” The leader, Erica, is the one who responds, eyes rimmed red with tears that Isaac knows an alpha will never allow to fall. “John is dead because of you all.”  
  
Guilt runs through Isaac, he hadn’t thought to check on the man’s wounds, even after they found the evidence of poison.    
  
Erica snarls at him when he attempts to apologize, so he looks to Adam. “What happened?”  
  
“Same sword that nicked Stiles, nearly gutted him.” Adam explains bitterly. “The poison ravaged him, he did not go easy.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Death is an all too common part of our lives.” Swallowing hard, Adam turns away, “I grow weary of it.”  
  
“Adam!” Erica growls, and the young man flinches. “Cease you blubbering and build the funeral pyre, put yourself to use.”  
  
“Don’t worry about the burial arrangements,” Isaac intervenes, trying to be kind. “Duke Hale will see to that.”  
  
The words do nothing but rouse her anger.  
  
“We see to our own.” Erica shoves past, nearly knocking him to the ground. “If you are too weak to do it, Adam, I’ll see to it myself.”  
  
They both watch her leave, and soon after the other betas follow in her wake.  
  
“I should apologize for my alpha.”  
  
“It’s alright.” Isaac frowns after her, watches her treat others similarly as she makes her way to the dark line of trees at the forest’s edge. “It’s grief.”  
  
“It’s not grief but her nature.”  
  
“It’s difficult to lose a friend.”  
  
A moment of hesitation, “John was my brother.”  
  
“Even more so then.” Compassion makes him squeeze Adam’s hand and lead him inside. “There are many among us who have felt the sting of death.”  
  
“And you?”  
  
“My entire family.” Isaac replies as they cross the threshold of the castle. “Understanding is not in short supply inside our walls.” They continue walking until they reach the servants quarters. Choosing the door opposite his own, Isaac opens it and motions Adam inside. “Here.”  
  
Adam looks around the sparsely furnished room; there’s a bed, a small couch near the window and a table with some toiletries that Isaac makes a not to freshen later on. “What is this?”  
  
“Solitude,“ Isaac says with a smile, “A place without your alpha where you can mourn whatever way you see fit.”  
  
The smile that Adam gives him makes Isaac’s heart ache, “You’re…thank you.”  
  
“Stay as long as you like.” Isaac says before he closes the door behind Adam.  
  
As much as they’ve all seen death, it still affects Isaac when he watches another person grieve, and he had been allowed to do so openly.    
  
Cloud comes out of his partially open door to sniff at his heels and Isaac picks the little puppy up, hugs her close. He can remember them so clearly, his grandfather and Cici and Laura’ the manor seems so empty without them.  
  
“What in the sordid,  bloody hell did I just witness?!”  
  
“Jackson?” Shaking off his surprise, Isaac watches him stride through the corridor, face accusing. “Skulking at corners now, are we?”  
  
“You just escorted that, that _hooligan_ to your bedchambers!”  
  
Isaac doesn’t bother correcting the misunderstanding. “And?”  
  
“ _And_?” Jackson’s face is turning an alarming shade of red. “What are you planning on doing? Some private welcoming of your own?”  
  
“Jackass.” Isaac’s eyes smart despite his anger. “You’d be wise to mind your own affairs and stay out of mine.”  
  
Jackson grabs his hand as he tries to move past, grip bruising. “I still haven’t heard a denial.”  
  
Isaac yanks free. “And you won’t get one.”  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
The first thing Stiles is aware of upon wakening is pain, his side aches and he feels groggy, mouth dry. After a few moments he feels like he can open his eyes. He does so slowly, confusion making his stomach roil. The last thing he remembers is the Lamarcks, the dull ring of steel against steel.  He has no idea where he is now, the beige and gold gilded walls are completely unfamiliar.  
  
Ignoring the sting in his ribs, Stiles attempts to sit up but finds his limb heavy and his strength severely lacking.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
That’s his father’s voice.  Stiles looks to his left and finds his Dad sitting beside the bed in an overstuffed, velvet green armchair. He looks worried, face lined and mouth drawn tight.  
  
“Dad,” Stiles rasps, hand covering his father’s fingers atop the bedspread. “What..?” He has no idea what has transpired, why he hurts the way he does. “How are you..?”  
  
“Don’t try and get up.” John instructs, gentle hands pressing his shoulders back against the goose down pillows firmly. “You’ve been ill.”  
  
When Stiles gives in to a fit of coughing, John motions to a servant girl to pour a glass of water from the pitcher by the bedside.    
  
After several greedy gulps, Stiles sets the cup down. “How long have I been ill?”  
  
“Two weeks.” John replies. “I was so worried about you, we all were.  Do you have any idea how dangerous your stunt was? Traveling alone, joining a band of _raiders_? For god’s sake Stiles, what were you thinking? You’ve done a lot of harebrained things, and I’ve indulged you but this… _this_ is by far the worst.”  
  
“I’m so sorry I made you worry, but-- ”  
  
“But you wanted  to be with the Duke,” John finishes, defeated. “I used to think your fascination with him was a phase, that you’d grow out of it. After the war, and the rumors, I prayed you would. I should’ve known.” He laughs sadly. “You’ve never been one to have whims, you’re loyal to a fault, and I know he’s the only alpha to turn your head.”  
  
Stiles tracks  the various emotions flickering across his father’s face, bits and pieces of the night are coming back to him, he remembers Derek‘s anger, remembers him screaming. “What are you saying, Dad?”  
  
“Your desire has been granted; I’m here for your mating.”  
  
That gives him a shock. “My _what_?”  
  
“You know the consequences to your actions, and Jackson took up sword in retribution in my absence--”  
  
“Retribution?” Now Stiles is starting to grow panicked, pulse kicking into high gear. “Tell me Jackson isn’t forcing Derek to mate with me, _he can’t_! That’s not what I want! I just wanted to help him, to be a friend.  I didn’t come here to force myself on him.”  
  
“What you want can no longer be considered. I don’t think you fully understand the ramifications; _you’re ruined_ , Stiles. Your reputation is ruined and Duke Hale recognizes that he must take responsibility.”  
  
“Well, I won’t do it.”  
  
“You will.”  
  
“ _I won’t_! I’d rather be alone than have a mate who doesn’t want me, didn’t chose me.”  
  
“Stiles,” John’s voice cracks as he slides his hand away. “If you refuse this match there will be no place for you… not only within society, but within our home.”  
  
Disbelief leaves Stiles numb. “You’d disown me?”  
  
“I’d have no choice.” John corrects, eyes wet. “I promised your mother I would do right by you, I won’t let you make me into a liar.”  
  
“Then I’m sorry,” Stiles’ heart aches, “But I care….” He takes a shallow breath. “I care about him too much to force myself on him.”  
  
“You would forfeit your family for Duke Hale?”  
  
“I won’t mate with him.”  
  
The  door opens at the end of his words and judging by Derek’s stormy expression he’s heard his refusal. He looks like hell, face haggard and dark bruises beneath his eyes.  
  
Stiles has never felt remorse such as this.  
  
“Der-” Stiles wets his lips, unconsciously pulling the blankets higher over him. “Duke Hale, I...I’m sorry about all the trouble I caused you and your men. I explained the situation to my father and we won’t hold you to any condition. I’ll make it easy for you and say--”  
  
“If you want to make things easier for me, you’ll abide by your family’s plans.”  
  
* **Derek** *  
  
As a child, Derek would spend his summer in the capitol and his  winters in the North, surrounded by the warmth of his family and the people who loved him. On nights such as this one, where the moon was heavy in the glittering sky and frost was on the ground, his uncle Peter would gather him and Laura close to the fire, tell them tales of their ancestors; of their courage and ferocity, their tenderness and compassion. His favorite story had been that of his parents. Derek doesn’t remember them--barely felt their loss at four years old because his uncle stepped into the role of father and mother--but he had loved to hear about them.  
  
His father Liam, had been a big, hulking alpha, with an insatiable appetite and a booming laugh. A fierce career soldier, he’d won battle after battle for the crown, and as such, secured the North as his reward. Their legacy, Peter explained to him, the castle and acclaim, had been fought for; earned. The Hales knew not the luxury of being born into esteem.  
  
His mother Shannon was a distant relative of the Queen, her cousin twice removed. She’d been a rare beauty, with fiery red hair and bright green eyes. A lady by birth but a leader at heart, she’d brought the land into fruition, organized the serfs to produce and store food for the bare months.  Her dowry funded the castle and it’s extensive manors. She was well loved by all; but none loved her more than Liam Hale. His father had told Peter that the day they met was the day he faced his destiny. Shannon had proven to be no easy chase, fighting the young Duke with every fiber of her being and nearly unseating him in the process. She’d wanted a mate worthy to father her children, a man to protect her when she was at her most vulnerable and could not do so on her own.  
  
From the little Derek does remember of them, his parents had been happy; always laughing and teasing one another.  If he concentrates really hard, Derek can feel her hands, warm and soft against his cheek as she sings him to sleep, can hear his father’s gravely voice and resonating steps.  
  
His father died first, fallen overseas in battle, not a month later and his mother joined.  
  
Growing up, hearing tales about his parents, Derek had expected more from his mating. He’d expected love and words of devotion. Even though Derek hasn’t pursued Stiles, he can’t say he’s genuinely sorry it’s come to this. However, Derek is not like his father, he comes to his mate void not only of  honeyed words but on the edge of ruin.  
  
Stiles deserves what his mother wanted, a mate worthy to father his children, an alpha to protect him when he was at his most vulnerable and could not do so on his own.  Instead, Derek comes to him a cripple, broken emotionally, physically and financially.  
  
A rustle catches Derek’s attention, and a muffled curse makes him smile despite it all.  
  
It shouldn’t be a surprise, this is the entire reason why Derek is outside,  but he’s still caught off guard when just past midnight Stiles slinks out of the bedroom window.  He’s no longer in human form, a wise choice, especially as he’s attempting to scale two stories of stone.  
  
Careful not to give away his position, Derek admires the sleek coat of sable fur, his white underbelly and amber eyes.  It’s amusing that he knows the boy this well.  
  
When Stiles makes it safely to the ground, Derek emerges from behind the stone steps lets out a warning growl.  
  
At the sound, the omega freezes, back and tail going stiff.  
  
“You promised to comply.” Derek tells him, walking out in front of Stiles. “And yet here you are, forever disobedient. This is not a good way to start off our union.”  
  
Stiles whines low in his throat, head lowering, and Derek can sense an apology but doesn’t want to hear one.  
  
“Get upstairs, and back in bed.” It’s understandable that Stiles, once faced with the actual reality of being with him, is realizing what a mistake he’s made. But he’s realized it too late. “There’s no way out of this mating, not for either of us.”  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
Their mating ceremony is unlike anything Stiles imagined as a child. There had been countless afternoons of daydreaming, wasted away on visions of vivid colors, bright forest green and the deep plume of wild flowers.  Tonight, he gets neither.  
  
It’s quick, perfunctory and no one witnesses it but the moon and his brothers. Matthew arrives just days before, and his children provide the only joy.  Oblivious to the stress, Leora throws crushed rose petals in the air around them and Camden laughs. Stiles is dressed simply in a plain white suit, per custom and Derek wears the same.  
  
When his father places his hand in Derek’s, and Derek vows to honor and protect him, to be a worthy alpha, Stiles contemplates running just one last time. Almost as if he’s privy to his thoughts, Derek’s hand tightens brutally on his. Stiles couldn’t move an inch if he wanted to.  
  
They kneel before one another when the moon is at the highest point in the sky. Stiles tips his head back, bares his neck when his father instructs and tries not to give into the gulf of sadness that threatens to swallow him.  
  
Derek’s breath skirts over his neck, warm and heavy, and Stiles closes his eyes. The bite doesn’t hurt as much as he expects. The instant Derek’s incisors break the skin, Stiles feels a wave of belonging and love strong enough to rival lightning.  
  
The connection built between them is nearly instantaneous, overpowering in a way that drains Stiles’ strength and replenishes it at once. There are no applause, just the sound of the forest when Derek moves back, lips tinged red and eyes glinting in the dark.  
  
Stiles whispers, low enough for only the two of them to hear. “I’m sorry.”  
  
 “Don’t be.”  
  
“Kiss!” Leora yells, breaking the tension and Stiles opens his mouth to distract her, tease her, anything--and Derek’s mouth lands on his.  
  
Without giving him time to breathe,  Derek dives in, crushes their mouths together and just takes. Derek’s tongue pushes against the seam of his lips, coaxing and demanding all at once.  Giving into the unspoken demand, Stiles’ parts his lips, lets him inside. It’s amazing,  even better than the kiss outside of the barn and Stiles can’t help but think that things will only get better.  When Derek pulls away, Stiles feels thoroughly claimed, dazed and confused.  
  
Derek gets to his feet, hand heavy against Stiles’ shoulder for a split second as he leans on him, and Stiles loves how that feels, what it means.  
  
* **Jackson** *  
  
 The celebratory dinner prepared for the mating is plain by even the most gracious standards and Jackson gives up even trying to pretend to eat the tough turkey and lumpy potatoes. Derek needs to hire a better cook, import ingredients and spices. Better yet, he should do as his father does, hire gamesmen to bring back supple antelope and tasty boar. A lord doesn’t eat turkey, it’s _peasant_ fare. This has been the way Derek has been treating them since their arrival, giving them simple food and not enough sprits, it’s unseemly.  
  
All throughout dinner, Stiles is quiet  and Jackson feels a twinge of pity deep within him, momentarily forgetting the disgusting food. He’s never seen him so subdued; defeated.  
  
Tradition dictates that the newly mated couple be left to themselves, so Matthew, Taylor and their father are leaving at first light. Jackson has never been one to adhere to the standards of others. So after dinner, he corners Derek alone in the hallway and informs him in no uncertain terms, that he’s going to remain.  
  
“Why?”  Derek asks him. “I thought you’d be eager to return to your fine life in the capitol.”  
  
“I’m not leaving Stiles here alone with you... not until I know that he‘ll be alright.”  
  
“What do you think I’ll do to him exactly?” Derek challenges hotly. “I’m his alpha, I decide anything that pertains to Stiles, with or without your presence.”  
  
Jackson rises to his full height. “I won’t let you hurt him.”  
  
“I’m not planning on it.”  
  
“Perhaps not physically, but your indifference will hurt just as much.”  
  
“What do you want me to do? Write him poems and send for sweets? I didn’t ask for any of this.”  
  
“I’d like for you to at least try and be a good mate. The strange devotion Stiles has for you…he could make you happy. And even you deserve some peace.”  
  
“Don’t pretend to care.” Derek snorts. “It doesn’t suit you.”  
  
“You’re absolutely correct, I have no compassion for _traitors_ , but I do care about my brother.”  
  
“This is my land, my house and my rules.”  
  
“So you would toss me out?”  
  
“You can stay, but I ask for a measure of respect. Things are going to be difficult enough in the depths of winter without you antagonizing me.”  
  
* **Stiles** *  
  
Stiles waits in Derek’s bedchamber-- their bedchambers-- heart pounding. He knows what’s expected of him tonight, but he doesn’t know what’s actually going to happen. Since the ceremony, Derek’s barely even looked at him but Stiles knows he’s aware. Their sleeves had brushed together during dinner and Derek’s eyes had flashed bright blue, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he watched him.  
  
Stiles knows that the same current of awareness that runs through him, runs through Derek; it’s part of being mates. They’re intimately connected in a way that heightens every emotion, including lust.  
  
Mates.  
  
It’s been more than an hour and Stiles still can’t wrap his head around it.  He is Derek Hale’s mate. After all these years of pining and wanting, he’s in Derek’s bed, waiting for him.  
  
Turning over unto his side, Stiles looks at  the door. The entire room smells like Derek, rich and musky; intoxicating. The bite on Stile’s neck tingles, spreads through him like a lover’s caress. Stiles touches it with a finger tentatively, feels a jolt of desire straight to the tip of his cock. He can feel his body changing, opening and going slick with anticipation.  
  
Sex  isn’t what they needs, Stiles wants to talk to Derek, try and convince him that he’ll make all of this up to him; that he never meant to force his hand. It’s all so confusing, his body completely separating from his mind and calling for his mate to lay a physical claim on him, to fill him and mark him on the inside with his seed. At the thought Stiles shivers, moans softly as he grows wet.  
  
The amount of pheromones he’s secreting are embarrassing and yet he can’t stop it. What he’s feeling is entirely primal, his wolf is pushing at the surface, making his clothes feel confining and stifling.    
  
With a  grunt of displeasure, Stiles turns over unto his belly, he hates this about himself, this feeling of complete helplessness, this  burning need he suddenly has. Only Derek can quell the deep ache starting inside of him.  
  
The bedroom door opens slowly, Derek’s  tall frame silhouetted in the dim light.  He inhales audibly, his own scent spiking as he catches Stiles’ oncoming heat.  
  
Stiles freezes, with fear or anticipation, he’s not sure.  
  
“You’re in heat.” There’s a dip in Derek’s voice, and Stiles can’t help rocking his hips down once against the mattress, putting pressure on his stiff erection. “Stiles…fuck, you smell so good.”  
  
“I can’t control it.”  
  
“I know.” Derek takes a step forward, then stops.  “And I won’t be able to control myself.”  
  
Stiles sits up, throws off the heavy blankets  and feels the cool night air wash over his partially nude body. “Then don’t.”  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came, I saw, I spent way too much time writing porn in this chapter.
> 
> You know me, i love to throw in some twists and turns... but the next chapter, which is nearly halfway done, is shaping up to be so fluffy it rivals a cloud.
> 
> I have such a desire to write mpreg and you'll see it in some form in the future... :)
> 
> Also, you guys are so amazing! i really, really love reading and replying to your comments.

***Stiles***  
  
“I’ll try not to hurt you.”  Derek’s voice is laden with some emotion Stiles can’t decipher but it excites him.  His mouth goes dry as Derek strips out of his black evening jacket, muscles flexing beneath the white linen of his shirt. “But there will be some pain.”  
  
“P-pain? Not the best words to start with.” Nervous laughter escapes him and Stiles finds himself unconsciously moving back up the bed, putting more distance between him and Derek despite wanting to do nothing more than jump across the room and rub himself  over every naked inch of Derek’s body. “I…uh. We could wait… if you want?” Another nervous laugh and Stiles is positive he sounds insane. “I know that this mating is unexpected and we should, we _should_ talk--”  
  
“No talking.” Derek’s eyes are bright even in the shadows, and Stiles can see the flash of white of descended incisors. “Don’t be afraid.”  
  
Stiles’ mating bite feels hot, he remembers the pain and thrill of those teeth breaking his skin. Derek begins to unlaces his breeches and Stiles‘ eyes track his every movement.  
  
“I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”  
  
Anticipation makes him squirm, fear makes his eyes drop to the emerald bed sheets. Impending pain or not, he knows that he’ll be begging within seconds. He’s already hard, erection clearly visible underneath his nightshirt. His vision is already blurring, every aspect of his heat overtaking him; he needs to be bred, held down and taken.  
  
And yet it’s more than that, beneath the uncontrollable fire is recognition. This is Derek, the man he’s waited for-- _wanted_ _for_ \-- years. With this night, Derek will be bound to him just as closely as Stiles has always been to him.  
  
When Stiles looks up, Derek is completely naked, clothing on the floor. Sharing none of his embarrassment, he meets Stiles’ eyes boldly, unashamed even when Stiles’ gaze instantly drops to his cock. It’s flushed heavy with blood, impossibly thick. Different from Stiles’ smaller, smoother one, and his stomach clenches. A shiver runs down his spine as he imagines taking every inch of it.  
  
Stiles makes a small noise in his throat as Derek advances and the alpha pauses at the foot of the bed. He still can’t believe this is his reality, and not a dream. Derek is beautiful, huge and muscled in a way only an alpha can be. His skin is smooth and tan,  and Stiles want to touch so badly.  
  
This is his alpha, his mate; the future father of his children.  
  
Stiles crawls down to the foot of the bed and Derek takes his hand, brings it to his chest just beneath his ribs. When Derek releases his hand, Stiles doesn’t move it away, brushes the tip of his index finger down Derek’s taut stomach. The alpha jerks slightly beneath his touch but other than that doesn’t react. Skirting the obvious, Stiles trails a finger down Derek’s belly, traces the sharp cuts of his hip, the slight dip of his navel. He stops when he encounters the thick mass of scar tissue, so foreign on a Were and yet present on his mate. It’s much larger than he expected, begins just below Derek’s hips and extends down nearly to his knee. The wound must have caused great pain, Stiles heart aches at the thought. Unthinking, Stiles leans down to press a kiss on the twisted flesh.  
  
Derek’s hand falls against the back of his head, grip tight on his hair as he draws Stiles  up until his chest is flush against his own. The first contact, skin on skin, makes his omega lurch to the surface, heat swelling and slick running down his thighs. Derek’s eyes flash, mouth tight as he inhales, a hand moving down Stiles’ back to the top of his ass.  
  
Stiles yelps,  looks up at Derek uncertainly but Derek only shifts his hand lower. “D-derek?” He’s terrified and unbelievably aroused all at once. He can’t think, his mouth working to form words as Derek pulls him even closer,  presses his cock into the cradle of his thighs.  Without realizing it, Stiles starts to push away.  
  
Derek catches his hands, “Stiles?”  
  
“I’m not...” His words contradict his actions. He  reaches up to touch Derek’s thick hair, coaxing him down for a kiss. “I’m afraid.”  
  
“Don’t be.” Derek murmurs, licking Stiles’ bottom lip, “It will be as it should be, your body will accept me.”  
  
“Y-yes.” Nothing else has ever sounded so good. “I want that.”  
  
Derek lifts the hem of his night shirt, draws it slowly over his thighs, hips and stomach and then finally over his head to leave him completely naked. It’s instinct that makes Stiles move to cover himself and Derek catches his arms, pulls them away, as he looks down at him hungrily.  
  
“You’re beautiful.” Derek’s gaze moves hotly over his body and Stiles presses his legs together, tries to appease the ferocious ache.   “I knew you would be.”  
  
With a gentle push down, Stiles falls back against the sheets, Derek blanketing his body with his own. The differences between them are startling, exhilarating as Derek begins a slow roll of his hips, rubbing down against him as he kisses him breathless. He feels small against Derek, protected. In such a  short time, he’s become addicted to Derek’s lips, the graze of his stubble against this cheek, the taste of mint and push of his tongue. Stiles thinks he will never tire this.  
  
“Beautiful.” Derek says again, punctuating the word with a thrust of his hips. “And mine.”  
  
“ _Yours_.” Embarrassment fading as his mate’s scent cloaks him, Stiles preens with the words, tips his head back when Derek drags his tongue down the curve of his neck. “Where am I beautiful?”  
  
“Everywhere; here.” Derek sucks Stiles’ hardened nipple into his mouth swiftly, biting the hard nub, making him keen and gasp. “Here.” Derek’s teeth graze down Stiles’ neck to suck a bruise unto the pale skin and his calloused hand runs over Stiles’ abdomen, going down to palm his hard dick. “And especially here.”  
  
At his touch, Stiles moans softly, instinctively reaching to pull his hand away.  
  
“Relax,” Derek chuckles at his efforts, keeping him firmly in his grasp. His eyes stay trained on Stiles‘, fingers squeezing tightly as he grips the shaft, moving up and down in an intoxicating rhythm. “I’m going to be touching a lot more of you very soon.”  
  
As much as Stiles wants to keep silent, he can’t. In seconds he’s gasping, whimpering when Derek’s finger flick against the tip of his cock. He’s never been particularly interested in doing this to himself, but when he had it never felt like this; like strokes of lightening that run through his whole body.  
  
And then his mind goes blank, completely over taken by ecstasy.  Derek’s moved his hand lower, the tip of his fingers pushing against Stiles’ wet hole and fireworks explode behind his eyes. Stiles’ entire body seizes and in seconds he’s coming,  thin release spurting over Derek’s belly and covering his own. He’s never touched himself there, hadn’t even known such pleasure could exist.  
  
Derek kisses him again and again, robbing what little is left of his breath,  two fingers  still thrusting shallowly in and out.  When Derek moves away, Stiles murmurs in protests, following him as he gets to his knees.  
  
“Touch me.”  
  
There’s moisture beading at the tip of Derek‘s swollen cock, and Stiles follows the drop as it runs down the shaft to his swelling knot, leaves it slick and shiny. He tries to ignore the rapid beat of his heart. That will be inside of him by the nights end.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
The desperation laced lust in  Derek’s voice makes Stiles harness his courage, wet his lips and lower his head. Better to try this now. Slowly, he opens his mouth, saliva filling it as Derek pushes inside. Stiles closes his eyes, feeling almost dizzy as his tongue flicks out to lap at the pearly drops gathered at the bulbous tip. Derek’s flavor, bitter and heady explodes in his mouth. Stiles groans, working his lips down over the shaft, swallowing reflexively as he tries to take more and more of him inside, he doesn’t get very far before he starts choking and has to pull off, only to repeat the entire process once more.  
  
In moments, Stiles’ jaw aches, his tongue feels numb and his chin is covered in spit but the soft pleasured moans spilling from Derek’s lips, the feel of his hands at the back of his head guiding his motions make it all worth it. He wraps his hand around the base of Derek’s dick, cork screwing up in a smooth motion to meet his mouth.  He’s not sure if he’s doing it right, completely relying on Derek’s reactions.  
  
Looking up from beneath his lashes, Stiles finds Derek staring down at him.  
  
Derek’s thighs tense and he doubles his efforts. “You like it, don’t you?”  
  
“You taste good.” Blushing, Stiles pulls off, licking his swollen lips and he isn’t lying. He loves the sensation of Derek in his mouth, between his lips. The alpha is at his complete mercy; the power is heady.  
  
Stiles goes back to suck him, pushes his tongue beneath the underside of his dick  and Derek growls, head thrown back and throat revealed. His fingers tighten in Stiles’ hair before he pulls him up and pushes him onto his back.  
  
The time for whispered words and unhurried kisses is clearly over. All traces of sweetness have gone, the alpha is in control.  
  
“Spread your legs.” Derek coming over him and Stiles obeys the hard note instantly.  Stiles trembles when he feels Derek’s fingers circling his wet hole, two pushing into his slick channel while his thumb rubs across his puckered rim. “Gonna fuck you.”  
  
 “Please…“ He should be scared but all he can think about is being knotted, being filled with Derek’s seed. “I need you.”  
  
“Begging for me.” Derek continues to finger him, masterful fingers reducing him to a trembling mass of limbs and pleas. “Fucking sexy.”  
  
The coarse language serves only to heighten his arousal. Still, that can’t erase the nerves that make him tremble when Derek’s hands grip his hips.  He closes his eyes, tries to come to terms with the fact that this is actually really happening.  
  
“Derek.” Stiles says his name in a whisper, his hand reaching to stroke his hardening cock as Derek’s fingers continued to thrust in and out of his loosened opening. “Please.”  
  
In response, Derek pulls out and turns Stiles over, brings him up on all fours. Stiles braces himself, pushing his hips back when Derek pushes his legs apart wider, and he feels the blunt head of his cock nudge against his entrance.  
  
Stiles was expecting Derek to just shove inside of him, but he doesn’t. Derek slowly penetrates him, stretches his inner walls, stops every few moments to give him time to adjust. It’s much sweeter than any heat claim has ever been, and tears prick behind his lids at the whisper of tenderness in all his movements.  
  
“Breathe.” Derek instructs, sounding strained. “Let me in.”  
  
The enduring pain is unexpected. Stiles fingers grip the sheets, body rigid as he tries to force himself to accept his mate, to follow Derek’s words. A second thrust and Derek’s all the way inside, hips snug against his ass. It hurts, a lot, but there’s a sense of fulfillment that is incredibly perfect.  
  
“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” Derek is inside of him, impossibly huge and hard, sweat damp body pressed against his back. He can feel his knot, even bigger than his cock, pressing insistently  against the rim of his hole. “Derek.”  
  
“Can I move?” Derek rocks his hips,  voice ragged. He bites down on the mating scar,  sucks against his neck and Stiles moans, squirming on his dick. “Tell me I can fucking move.”  
  
It still hurts, but the pain is rapidly fading, leaving the all too familiar ache of his heat. Stiles closes his eyes and pushes his hips back, forcing Derek in deeper and wringing a groan from him. Taking his cue, Derek pulls out, until only the flared head is buried inside of him, then he shoves back in.  That sets the rhythm.  
  
It’s good, better than, and Stiles can’t stop himself from crying out at the feel of Derek moving so powerfully  inside of him, around of him. Everything is perfect, the sting of sweat and the bite of his teeth. Struggling to catch his breath, Stiles drops his head down, knuckles showing white as Derek fucks him from behind.  
  
Their mating isn’t gentle but rough, Derek asserting dominance in every way as he claims him. Derek surges forward, slamming deep to hit a spot inside that makes stars explode behind his eyes.  
  
“Derek.” Stiles can feel a hot tingle spreading through his lower stomach, it’s as if he’s about to combust. Like he’s about to float away and all he wants to do is let go.  
  
Suddenly, Derek swears,  pulls out of him quick enough that a tiny flash of pain runs through him .  
  
“Why…” Stiles is dazed, movements clumsy as he faces Derek. “W-what?”  
  
 Derek refuses to meet his eyes. “My leg is going to give out.”  
  
“I…” Feeling lost and bereft, Stiles bites his lip, every cell in his body focused on the  soreness between his legs. It’s still not enough; he needs to be knotted, above all else, he needs this. “I don’t--”  
  
“Ride me.” Derek says matter of factly. He lays down on his back, lifts Stiles over his lap and then slides back inside him with one hard thrust. “Like this.”  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles shift back, moaning at the different angle. He has more control, and uses it, rolls his hips when Derek instructs, squeezes him and  lifts up and down.  
   
“Open your eyes, look at us.” Derek’s hand goes down to where their bodies are joined, fingers pressing against Stiles stretched rim as his cock moved deep inside of his body. “See how we fit together.”  
  
Stiles tries to focus, breath catching as he looks at  Derek’s dark cock plunging in and out of his pink hole, taking him and claiming him in the most primal way.  
  
It’s too much. Stiles falls forward against Derek’s chest, comes again with a low shout, hearing Derek’s soft grunts against his neck, his back arched, impaling Derek’s cock deep within him as he pulses his release across his thighs and belly.  
  
Derek’s hands are tight on his hips, holding him immobile as he pushes up once, twice and then he’s coming, head thrown back against the pillows. Stiles watches him come; tracks the infusion of red into his cheeks, sees his diamond bright eyes glaze over and hears the howl from his parted mouth as his knot presses into him, ties them together for at least half an hour as Derek comes inside him again and again.  
  
Stiles feels like he’s flying, breaking apart, becoming one with Derek and coming into himself.  Derek is so incredibly beautiful, and he’s his. Stiles bites his tongue on the words ‘I love you,’ kisses Derek instead and promises himself that he’ll  make him happy.  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
Waking up with someone else is nothing particularly new, but it feels different waking up with his mate. It’s something Derek never thought he’d have. Those that came before Stiles had been nothing, the dalliances with the tavern girls and the like had been merely to slack his lust…and Kate, she had been something entirely different. Yet even with his delusions of love, Derek had always been aware of her presence  
  
But with Stiles… being with him fulfils something deep inside of him, he fits in his arms so perfectly that he‘s like an extension of himself. Despite the fact that Stiles takes up more than his share of the bed, spreads out diagonally and completely on top of him, Derek is comfortable. Derek had woken more than once throughout the night, and each time Stiles’ enticing wriggles had led him to claiming him again.  
  
Neither had gotten much sleep, the evidence of why is written all over Stiles‘ pale skin. Derek traces a fading bruise with the tip of his finger, presses down gently, lips curving up into a smile when Stiles makes a sound of displeasure. Stiles’ heat had dissipated the night before,  leaving him in an exhausted slumber. His mate is worn out, Derek knows he is, because his bum leg hadn’t even allowed him to do most of the work. It’s baffling, Derek had expected Stiles’ to be horrified by his grotesque scars, but Stiles hadn’t even flinched…he’d kissed them.  
  
This feels like someone else’s life. Derek had never thought he’d be mated to Stiles not even before his accident. But he’s enraptured by the pink curve of Stiles’ kissed bruised lips. For all his inexperience, Stiles is incredible in bed, and clearly open to exploring his alpha’s body.  
  
Thankfully, Isaac chooses then to knock on the door, he’s been leaving a  tray of food outside of the door for the past four days. Throwing on his robe, Derek gets out of bed and opens the door, he’s never done it so promptly and Isaac was clearly not expecting him to judging by the surprised expression he has on his face.  
  
“Well, hello.” Isaac sing songs maddeningly, eyes all knowing and amused. “I thought it’d be at least another day before I saw your precious face again. Although, I heard your voice often enough, you kept shouting--”  
  
“Shut up.” Derek snaps sourly. “Have the Stilinskis departed?”  
  
A nod, “All but Jackson.”  
  
“See him settled then.”  
  
“Easier said than done.”    
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Nothing.” Isaac waves away his concern and starts down the hall where Derek can see Claire is waiting, a basket of linens in hand. “See to your mate! I‘ve included some salve that the healer left behind.”  
  
When Derek gets back to bed, Stiles is starting to wake. Derek finds the rapid flutters of his eyelashes and pursed lips adorable.  
  
“Mm.” Stiles turns over unto his side, sheets tangling around his legs as he does. He stretches.  “Ugh.” The second grunt is decidedly unhappy and Derek knows he must be incredibly sore.    
  
Derek sets the tray down on the bed. “Good Morning.”  
  
On cue, red suffuses Stiles’ cheeks and the covers creep up, “Hello.”  
  
“There’s no reason to hide,” Derek can’t resist teasing, “I have seen every inch of you.”  
  
“Stop.”  
  
Derek laughs, cutting up an apple with a knife and bringing a piece to Stiles’ lips.  
  
“I can feed myself.” Stiles grumbles but he opens his mouth and eats the fruit, same as he’s done for the past few days. “I’m not a child.”  
  
This dynamic is so different from they way they were before, perversely reminds Derek of when Stiles was a child and would trial behind him begging for fruit tarts. However, Stiles isn’t a child anymore, he’s a man, fully come into his heat and old enough to take his knot.  
  
“But I like feeding you.”  Derek responds honestly, the words escaping him.  
  
“Are you going to say such embarrassing things always?”  
  
“Only when you’re naked.” Perplexingly enough, that makes Stiles look happy.  
  
Derek is noticing now just how much of an impact his words have on Stiles. The subtle changes in his scent, the burst of sweet and pleasure he can now recognize because they’re mates; it’s humbling.  
  
And confusing.  
  
Stiles laughs but his blush doesn’t fade, “Soon all of this won’t be so novel and I will make you uncomfortable.”  
  
Fruit juice dribbles down over Derek’s fingers and acting on reflex Stiles licks it up, tongue dragging over his index and thumb.  
  
Derek stifles a groan and goes half hard when he sucks on his finger. “You already have.”  
  
“It’s strange, isn’t?” Stiles wrinkles his nose, seemingly unaware. “I feel strange.”  
  
“Did I hurt you?” Worry floods him, an he remembers the salve. “The healer has sent ointment. Maybe I should take a look, apply--”  
  
“Oh God. No. Must you always be embarrassing?” The blush is near crimson now. “I’m fine.”  
  
“I‘ll just smooth some on your--”  
  
“You’re not smoothing anything on anywhere!” Stiles presses his legs together mutinously. “I’m fine, I swear.”  
  
They eat in companionable silence after that, Stiles feeding himself much to Derek’s loss. When they’re finished, Derek clears away the tray, and he means to suggest a bath, a talk, anything not sex related, he really does, but when he looks at his mate, sitting there half naked, debauched and disheveled by his hand, all good intentions disappear.  
  
Stiles doesn’t notice, expression alarmingly somber as he watches Derek get out of bed. “Now that we’re both clear headed--”  
  
“Come here.” Derek interrupts him. He sits down on the chair closest to the fire, opens his robe. “Now.”  
  
“We should talk…” Stiles trails off, eyes fixed on Derek’s arousal. “We should, uh. Yes, talk.”  
  
There will be plenty of times for words later.  
  
Derek shakes his head slowly, crooks a finger and grins when Stiles rises, blanket clutched around him like a shield as he walks forward.  
  
As soon as he’s within arms reach, Derek grabs him about the waist and  lifts him unto his lap. There’s no mistaking what he wants, and judging by the quickness of his breath and sweet scent of his slick, Stiles wants the same.  
  
“Are you okay?” Derek mouths down his neck, tongue brushing over the dusky little pink nipples he’s become so enamored with.  “Not too sore?”  
  
“Not too sore.” Stiles bites his lip, hands falling to Derek’s shoulders to grip tight. “Again?”  
  
“Again.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
The fourth day of his mating, Stiles wakes up heat nearly gone and embarrassment floods him, there is no doubt everyone in the castle knows exactly what he has been doing. However, Derek chases away all thoughts of shame by claiming him once more, need just as strong even without Stiles’ heat. It thrills Stiles that Derek wants him, truly just him even without the enticement of pheromones.  
  
On the sixth day, Stiles wakes up heat gone, alone and sore, aching in places he hadn’t even known existed. The horrifying embarrassment makes a reappearance and Stiles decides to hide in his bedchamber. However, he soon grows bored. Stiles has absolutely no idea what to do,  but he knows he can’t stay inside all day. It’s pitiful, besides like it or not, he is the Duke’s mate and his life can’t sleep the day away. He has duties, Stiles may not know what they are, but he knows they exist.  
  
There’s a knock on the door and Stiles sits up, blush rising to his cheek as he thinks of Derek on the other side. They still haven’t had a proper talk, every time Stiles tried to, Derek would begin kissing him and he’s beginning to realize that he can’t think at all when Derek touches him. Besides, there’s a part of him that’s afraid of what Derek will say.  
  
“May I come in?” Isaac calls, and Stiles stifles his disappointment. “I have your breakfast.”  
  
“It‘s alright, come inside.” Stiles grabs his wrinkled nightshirt and puts it on hurriedly before the door opens. He watches Isaac come into the room with a breakfast platter, Cloud barrels in after him, barking excitedly.

Stilessmiles at her antics, hefts her up unto the bed when she can't make it on her own. Isaac sets the tray down.

Keeping Cloud away, Stiles looks down at the spread. “Is this how it works up in the North?”  
  
“What exactly?”  
  
“Breakfast. At home, the butler takes orders and Martha prepares our requests.”  
  
“Well,” Isaac lifts a brow, “We could do that, but we no matter what you request,  our cook will just use what is on hand.”

"What happened to Gertie? She would make these little tarts--"

"She passed in the fire."

Those are words Stiles hates hearing, many of the people he's known  have died, not just Luara, Peter and Cici.

"I didn't know.

Isaac shrugs. "How could you have?"

  
“Even so…” Stiles looks down at the cheese and bread. _Endless_ amounts of cheese, and he bloody hates cheese. “Could I trouble you for eggs?”  
  
“There aren’t many laying hens and Derek directed that what they do produce be given to the younger pups.”  
  
Stiles makes a face at the thought of being deprived, but it‘s for the children. “Then I’ll have some tomorrow.”  
  
The look Isaac gives him is filled with exasperation, “Not tomorrow or the next. We’re _subsistent_ farmers,  and the war has greatly diminished our livestock.”  
  
“Meaning?”  
  
“Even with the abundant harvest, It will be a lean winter.” Isaac catches himself, brow furrowing in concern. “Derek hasn’t told you about this?”  
  
Stiles shifts uncomfortably, “We were busy doing other things.”  
  
Isaac winks, “I can imagine.”  
  
Ignoring the innuendo, Stiles asks, “Do you know where he is? I woke and he was gone.”  
  
“He’s touring the southern fields; should be back by midday.”  
  
“Do you...” Stiles hates how incredibly clueless he sounds. “What am I supposed to do all day? Sleep?”  
  
“I could show you around the main village, there are many who wish to meet you.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Of course, Lady Shannon was well admired and loved by all. The people, especially the betas and omegas, worshiped her. All wish to recapture their lives before the war, and you, you are something fresh and new. Something that isn‘t tainted by the ashes of the past.”  
  
“I wasn’t.” A wave of insecurity hits Stiles. This place is so foreign to him, their way of life is unlike anything he’s known. “I was raised to oversee a household,  I’m not prepared to run a village and farms and--”  
  
“We’re just people.” Isaac interjects quietly. “No different than any other.”  
  
Stiles nods, pops a piece of cheese into his mouth. It’s tangy, much more bold than what he’s used to but not entirely unpleasant. “What kind of cheese is this?”  
  
“Goat cheese.” Isaac grins when Stiles nearly chokes, “You like it?”  
  
It’s a struggle to hide his horror. “It’s….different.”  
  
“We have sheep’s milk cheese as well, if you‘d like to try it.”  
  
“That will have to wait for another day, a _distant_ day.” Abandoning the cheese, Stiles takes a crust of bread, feeding some  crumbs to Cloud. “How has Jackson been? Have you seen him?”  
  
“Your brother prefers to remain alone.” Isaac begins picking up the clothes they’d dropped over the days spent alone. “His quarters are in the West hall if you’d like to see him.”  
  
Isaac opens the shutters and the light in the room amplifies, Stiles can see the fields of grass, the endless miles of forest and further back still the grey smudge of the caverns.  
  
It's difficult not to grin when he imagines his urban brother in such surroundings. “Jackson must be bored to tears.”  
  
“Most likely.” Isaac’s voice is hollow, and Stiles gives him a questioning glance which is ignored. “Shall I draw you a hot bath?”  
  
“Yes, please.” Stiles responds. “And if its not too much trouble, ask Jack if he’d like to come along on your tour.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Seeing Derek’s land is quite an experience. There is no comparison to the capital, everything is in it’s natural form, raw and real.  Stiles has never seen such beauty in his life. Quite frankly, it’s breath taking. The fields of wheat, long grass and wildflowers live up to Lydia’s musings. The air is fresh, crisp and free of the pheromones of the crowds. All is renewed with the wind, each gust cleansing. It’s too bad Jackson had decided to stay indoors.  
  
When they get to the village, their presence attracts a crowd. Stiles isn’t expecting such familiarity from the pack, even more so the friendliness.  Most are curious, betas asking question and children trailing behind, shouting over one another to point out wells and other landmarks. Stiles smiles at their eagerness, says thank you when they call him ’pretty’ and lace violets together to make him a crown.  
  
The alphas keep a respectful distance, but their expressions are open and when a felled tree blocks the path to a creek, four of them leap over one another to clear the way.  About midway through, Erica and her clan join the tour but when Stiles tries to extend condolences, they’re brushed away for talk of the promised reward.  
  
“So these Weres are farmers?” Erica scoffs at the group of men in the fields. “It’s a curious thing.”  
  
“Our lands were secured by blood.” Isaac waves them forward unto a smaller beaten path. “The constant hunting and battling left the pack not only weary but discouraged. Lady Shannon brought novel ideas, she gave the people the life they wanted, the life I grew up in.  It’s peaceful to not fight for every little thing.”  
  
“Farming is  what _humans_ do.” There is no understanding in Erica’s eyes an the betas nods their agreement behind her. “There is honor in invading a land and taking what you need. It is our way.”  
  
Isaac smiles dimly, “And yet you eat the bread made from grain, grown by our hand.”  
  
The smirk on Adam’s face takes Stiles by surprise, even more so the amused look he and Isaac exchange behind Erica’s back.  
  
Erica stiffens,tosses her blond head. “I could just as easily _steal_ your bread.”  
  
Adam's expression goes dark. “And risk life and limb for a loaf.”  
  
"Grown quite a pair in the past week, have you now?" Like a hawk zeroing in on its prey, Erica turns on him, lip curled back in a snarl. “ As much as you blather on, I _know_ these alphas can’t be happy, farming and playing house like bloody cocksucking idiots!”  
  
“Meanwhile,“ Isaac continues blandly. “You pillage and steal, are you happy?”  
  
“Yes!” Erica says at the same time Adam replies, “Sometimes.”  
  
“Alright,” Stiles breaks into the bickering. “We all have different ways of life, to each their own. Onwards and upwards, and all that.”  
  
Isaac stops abruptly and Stiles bumps into his back.  
  
“Why have you stopped?”  
  
“We’ve come full circle, the lands before you are those that were scorched by the inferno. There is nothing there that a lord should see.”  
  
Stiles looks over his shoulder, shock coursing through him at the charred, barren land. It appears abandoned but there are a few huts, larger cottages that are active. “Do any Weres remain?”  
  
Isaac nods, “A stubborn few.”  
  
Even Erica has fallen silent, eyes tracking the smoke rising from a chimney.  
  
“Then we shall greet them as well.” Stiles decides.  
  
This place is unlike the main village, the Weres here are suspicious, silent. Even though he catches movement at the windows only one girl comes out to speak to him. She’s no more than twelve, a basket of berries in her hand. She offer them to him, and Stiles knows this may be all she has.  
  
This tour has shown him many things. These people as content as they are, have known hardship, continue to know hardship. It’s confusing and Stiles doesn’t understand. Derek is a high ranking general, he defended the kings lands on his own for years, he should be wealthy beyond all understanding.  
  
“Why does your family remain?” Stiles asks the girl, “The main village can house you--Duke Hale can house you.”  
  
“This is our home.” She says the words as if they are more than enough explanation. “Home is where we should be.”  
  
“But it’s…” Stiles feels weighed down in this place. “All is lost.”  
  
“Look, my lord.” The girl scrapes her boot over the ground, clears away a layer of dark ash. Beneath the soot and soil, there is a flash of green, a stunted sprout that will be crushed by the impending frost, but it is hope. Proof that when spring comes again, multiple shoots will rise. “Do you see? All is not lost;  hope is all around us.”  
  
Because there are no other words to offer, Stiles extends promise. “We will rebuild.”  
  
The girl smiles back at him, “We always do.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Sulking is not something Jackson has ever done and if he ever were to stoop to such childish actions, he certainly would not be brought there by a servant.  No, his resentment is due to his unfortunate situation of being trapped in the countryside, god forsaken birds twittering him awake far too early.  
  
Laughter drifts in from the open window and Jackson sets aside the letter he’s penning to look. Predictably, Isaac is walking with the hooligan, obnoxiously laughing at whatever moronic tale the big oaf is regaling him with. It's baffling, where Isaac is all acerbic tone with him, he is all sweetness with the marauder.  
  
Jackson clenches his teeth when Adam puts and arm around Isaac’s shoulders, squeezing him in a brief hug before following the wild woman  back to the village.

That kind of familiarity only comes from intimacy, and as much as he wishes he could erase it from his memory, Jackson had seen Isaac escort the barbarian to his bed chambers.

Bleeding hypocrite.  
  
Isaac, for all his going on about morals and judgment is like every other wench; quick to seek an illicit affair. Below, Isaac goes still, and then, horrifyingly enough looks up directly at his window. Jackson resists the urge to duck away like some peeping child, and meets his gaze with a sneer.  
  
Stiles follows Isaac’s stare and waves him down, as he shouts, “Come outside, meet us in the hall.”  
  
“I’ve work to do.” Jackson despises having to call down like a commoner, how improper. “You go ahead.”  
  
“But Isaac has packed a picnic so--”  
  
“Actually,” Isaac motions in the direction Adam disappeared in. “I’m off to the village, feel free to enjoy without me.”  
  
It’s as if Isaac is taunting him, throwing his tawdry actions in his face, and there isn’t a damn thing Jackson can say about it even though jealousy is eating at him. Without waiting for either to respond, Jackson slams his window shut as hard as he can and then immediately feels like a spoilt child.  
  
Bloody hell he hates the North.  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
It definitely must be poor form to be away from his mate for so long but there is work to be done. By the time he arrives back within the castle walls, he’s tired and aching, leg cramping painfully. He finds Stiles seated in the dining room midway through dinner, a very sour faced Jackson at his side. They’re both dressed formally, Stiles in a deep blue evening coat and black breeches, Jackson in his signature whites. When Stiles sees him, he smiles, a smile filled with such insecurity that Derek breaks all societal constraint and kisses him in greeting. Jackson grumbles at the display being improper and eventually retires early; they follow suit.  
  
That night sets the pattern for their life. Nothing is as awkward as Derek expects. He’d thought Stiles would want to talk his ear off, insist on speaking about their mating but he’s done just the opposite.  Instead, they’ve established a routine, Derek sees to the harvest and when he returns they  have sex for hours before falling asleep.  
  
Which is why Derek is caught off guard when instead of kissing him back one night, Stiles disentangles himself gently and says, “We should speak of some things.”  
  
“I have no need for discourse.”  Derek fumbles with the buttons on Stiles’ jacket. “Bed.”  
  
“It’s about the harvest.” Stiles steps away, but takes his jacket off anyway, placing it neatly on the chair. “The people need their spirits lifted.”  
  
“Precisely why I’ve recommenced the tradition of the festival.”  
  
“Yes, I know, but I was thinking more. This festival should be an extra special harvest festival, we can bring things your people have never seen.” Stiles is animated now, hands going as fast as his mouth. “Like chocolates or nut spreads or delicacies from the Orient, things like that.”  
  
As Stiles continues rattling off excitedly, Derek’s stomach turns, the price of  all of these things would be astronomical. The worst part is that Stiles is completely oblivious to the very obvious fact that he can’t afford any of these things. Even Jackson is wise to the conditions of the manor, every thing he does have he’s put into rebuilding.  
  
Pride won‘t let Derek admit it however, so he tries to speak around it. “This isn’t the capital, we live much more simply in the country.”  
  
“You can’t be frugal always.” Stiles dismisses and Derek‘s anger is roused irrationally. “This is a special occasion, Derek, just for a week. After all the tragedy, the people deserve something--”  
  
“I know what my people need.” Inadequacy makes Derek defensive. This is what he was afraid of, being not only crippled but impoverished.  “You’ve been here but a fortnight, do not think you can speak to me about my people, do not think you know my pack better than I do.”  
  
Stiles flinches, excitement fading to hurt and Derek feels like a heel. “I don’t… I just thought.”  
  
“My coffers are greatly diminished, spending money on unnecessary things is senseless. ”  
  
“Then,” The hesitation warns Derek of what’s to come. “I’ll ask my father to pay for it, he would order these things for me on a whim, I’m sure he‘d have no issue doing it again.”  
  
“No.” Derek snaps. People are already speaking of their hasty union, the rumors are spreading like wildfire. The last thing Derek wants is for his financials to be aired as well. “The festival will go on as planned, without your additions.”  
  
“You‘re being ridiculous! I have the finances, even if you don’t!”  
  
“I’m alpha, and my word is final.”  
  
Stiles eyes flash. “ _Bullshit_.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  The words catch Derek off guard, he’s become accustomed to the new, agreeable Stiles, had fully expected  that to continue. Clearly, he was wrong.  
  
“I’ve never been one to bow to any alpha’s will, I certainly won’t start now.”  
  
Because he doesn’t know what to say, Derek reverts back to what he’s seen. “You will obey me.”  
  
It’s a mistake.  
  
“Obey you?” Stiles’ eyes are all but burning with repressed fury, his voice rising. “You knew how I was before we mated, if you wanted an obedient omega you should‘ve chosen--”  
  
“Except I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”  There it is, the issue Stiles thinks he’s been avoiding with sex.  
  
Derek’s words are a lie, a complete lie,  but Stiles doesn’t know that. No one had told him that the duel had been fought, Derek the victor.  
  
Hurt floods his face and Stiles goes completely white, taking a step back.  Derek has no idea why he’s doing this, hurting someone he cares about because he can’t be honest. Another failure to add to his long list.  
  
“Stiles, I didn’t--”  
  
“You’re right.” Stiles walks away from him, whips back the bed sheets to crawl between them. “I’m sorry I forced your hand in this mating.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have said that. It‘s not tr--”  
  
“You win, Derek.” Stiles turns over unto his side. “The festival will go on as you planned.”    
  
That night is the first since their mating that they sleep with their backs to one another.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't believe how long and hard i worked on this!  
> So many struggles to finish and edit! I changed the pacing, so this chapter is going to be marshmallow fluff:)  
> Also there is alot of Jisaac in this update, because, well, i love them together, and i like the idea of a slowly reforming Jackson :D
> 
> thanks for your patience, have fun and be kind :)  
> As i rushed to post, i may have missed mistakes, point of obvious ones please!

***Stiles***  
  
The persistent dreary weather of the past week matches Stiles’ mood. Once again, Stiles awakens alone in his bed to grey skies, heavy fog and rain. It’s been four days since Derek refused to listen to any of his ideas, and made his feelings on their mating clear. His stubborn silence  and distance make it clear to Stiles that the he’s not going to change his mind.  
  
When Stiles gets washed up and dressed, he makes his way down to the great hall, to  find the breakfast table empty, except for Jackson.  Usually, the soldiers will break fast with them, and Stiles had been looking forward to their  exaggerated tales and jest.   He fears Jackson will only sour the mood further.  
  
“Good morning.” Jackson  greets cheerfully, smile going stiff when Clair enters with the breakfast cart. His forced smiles vanishes completely when Claire sets down plates of cheese and warm, crusted bread.  
  
“How many bloody kinds of _cheese_ will we be forced to ingest daily?” Jackson hisses the instant Claire turns her back. “This is _unbearable_ , no bacon, no _ham_? No bleeding apple tarts?”  
  
“Breakfast is a simple affair in these lands.”  
  
“But I am not a simple man to be treated as such!”  
  
“Keep your voice down!” Stiles whispers fervently; he knows the halls are always occupied, whether it is by footmen or staff. The last thing he wants is for Derek’s pack to know he hates their fare.  They‘re welcome but still cautious with him. “For god’s sake Jack, you sound like a spoilt child.”  
  
“Feeling put out because you’re usually the only spoilt child at the breakfast table?”  
  
“I am not!”  
  
“You used to demand peeled grapes!”  
  
“I was _seven_ and you told me the skins were poisoned!”  
  
“Now boys, no need to argue.” Isaac singsongs as he walks through the dining hall, basket of linens in hand.  “You’re _both_ spoiled children.”  
  
Jackson glares at Isaac’s back as he leaves but Stiles notices that he doesn’t respond until Isaac is too far away to hear.  
  
 “He’s too damn cheeky for a servant.”  
  
Stiles raises a brow. “And yet your eyes follow after him often.”  
  
Miraculously,  color rises high on Jackson’s neck, creeping into his cheeks.  
  
“Jackson…” For as long as Stiles can recall, Jackson has never cared about anything or anyone, save for himself. “Do you fancy Isaac--”  
  
“Shut up, Stiles.” Jackson snaps, “You should worry after your own affairs, I’ll be leaving soon and where will that leave you?”  
  
“In exactly the same position.”  
  
“Hardly; I’ve been running interference with Derek on your behalf since I got here.”  
  
Stiles scoffs, “I doubt it!”  
  
“I have.” Jackson pours himself a cup of tea, and then surprisingly does the same for Stiles. “I even inquired as to why Derek has been leaving at first light these past days.”  
  
Attempting to force nonchalance, Stiles adds a lump of sugar into his tea and stirs it slowly, eyes trained on the paisley table cloth. “And what did he say?”  
  
“I’m not sure, I wasn’t very interested,” Jackson leans back in his seat, smug self-important smile back in place. “He blithered on about you begging for sweets.”  
  
“ I didn’t beg for them, I requested that we have some brought in for the harvest festival.”  
  
“And why would you do that?”  
  
“To lift spirits,” Stiles replies honestly. “Derek’s pack is now my own. I only seek to foster good will. Have you not seen the land? How much these people have endured?”  
  
“I have.” Jackson responds, however he seems to share neither Stiles’ sympathy nor his concern. “But if you look at the infrastructure, and take into account the willingness of the Weres to provide manual labor, it’s easily remedied; with the proper funds and proper direction of course.”  
  
“Derek will refuse any aid I offer.”  
  
“His refusal is worth less than horseshit. You’re his omega, his equal in matters of the home. Since when do you cower in the face of challenge?.” A calculating smile spreads across Jackson’s face. “I say, if it’s chocolates you want, send word to father.”  
  
“It’s not that simple.” Stiles can no longer  behave the way he did in the past, the last thing he wants is to embarrass his mate further. Derek’s wants must be taken into consideration, no matter how stubborn and obstinate he is. “Derek refuses.”  
  
“Derek is not father.”  
  
“But I don’t want to anger him,  I’ve already--”  
  
“You’ve already what? You’ve caused him to mate with an omega of quality from a spotless lineage? You’ve elevated his position in society beyond his wildest expectations? You’ve tried to instill hope in his people? Yes, Stiles, your list of crimes is endless.”  
  
Well.  
   
When phrased like that Stiles really cannot feel guilty about ignoring Derek’s will.  In the end, once Derek gets over his damnable pride, he’ll even be grateful. This will only strengthen their bond in the end.  
  
“You’re right.”  
  
Jackson beams. “Words I shall never tire of.”  
  
“Do you believe Father can have them sent before the festival? It’s less than a fortnight away.”  
  
“I know he can, prior to my departure, a large shipment arrived from the Orient and Caribbean, cocoa beans included. You shall have your chocolates, and spices, and whatever nonsense you wish.”  Jackson decrees grandly, and Stiles knows this is now about Jackson more than it is about him. “And, I’ll have father herd some pigs and cows. Your wedding feast was sorely lacking, your life will not continue in like manner. I‘ll see to it all, don‘t concern yourself with any of the arrangements.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
The summer Stiles’ turned eight, he’d gotten it into his head that Derek’s pocket watch held magical powers. Inherited from his father, who’d gotten it from his father before him, the pocket watch had meant much more to Derek than he realized. It was only when the thing went missing did he see clearly the value in an heirloom.  
  
Derek had been half crazy and the Stilinski’s staff had spent half  a day combing the grounds when  Stiles had admitted shamefaced that he’d stolen it because he wanted to be ‘strong and brave and fierce’ like him. Derek had looked down at him, taken in the tears and dirt stained cheeks and he’d just been so angry. It had marked the first and last time he’d yelled at Stiles.  
  
The rough words and treatment had sent Stiles wailing to his father and Derek hadn’t  seen the boy for nearly a week. He’d felt like a heel.  
  
In the end, Derek had come back to the house, proverbial tail tucked between his legs. With some cajoling and  a few hugs, Stiles had become happy again.  Derek had even let him keep the pocket watch every other day for a month.    
  
That’s the way it’s always been.  
  
Derek’s never been able to remain angry were Stiles is concerned, and  apparently ten years of separation  has done nothing to change that.  
  
Nearly dead on his feet, hip and knee throbbing, Derek stops in front of the bed. He can tell Stiles is awake, can hear the rapid beat of his heart, and yet he doesn’t move. It’s been this way for awhile, but Derek doesn’t want to do it tonight.  
  
More than the pain, the silence has always kept him awake.  
  
“I shouldn’t have been so harsh.” The words leave Derek’s mouth before he can stop them. “But there are ways things must be done.”  
  
Stiles rolls over unto his side, eyes looking up into his. “Your way?”  
  
“It can be our way.” Derek corrects, undressing. He takes it as encouragement when Stiles doesn’t move away when he crawls beneath the covers. “I’d rather it be so.”  
  
“And our way would entail me bowing to your will in all things?”  
  
“No.” Derek replies instantly watching the shadows play across his face. “You know I’m not a difficult man.”  
  
“Which is why--”  
  
Derek cuts his words off with a kiss, and after a moments struggle Stiles’ gives in, mouth opening beneath the insistent pressure of his own. It’s almost unfair to use Stiles’ newly awakened sexual drive to his advantage but Derek must. It’s  all Derek can give. The past has shown that giving in to another will only lead to more hurt, more disappointment. Trusting someone-- loving someone-- is a mistake he will never make again.  
  
“We should talk.” Stiles whispers when he breaks for air, lips swollen and deliciously pink. Derek wants to bite them, lick them, take them between his own. “We should--”  
  
“There will be time for words later.” Derek responds, dipping his head to kiss the bare curve of Stiles’ neck. He reaches for the laces at the front, fingers deftly parting the material. “Much later.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Even with the added preparations for Stiles‘ event, there isn’t much to occupy Jackson’s time. Often, he remains alone within his quarters for the duration of the day and takes the solitude as an opportunity to review Dr. Deaton’s journals and sharpen his skills.  
  
The silence has always intimidated him, in the quiet every failure rings far too loudly in his ears.  The war is past but many days it feels like it’s still his reality. Often, he wakes drenched in sweat, screams trapped in his throat as he fights invisible enemies.  
  
The memories will not leave him; they're souvenirs he’s desperate to lose. The cold, the unbearable heat, the frenzy and chaos of the battle field;  Dr. Deaton choking on his own blood while Jackson struggled to aid with minimal tools and a complete lack of experience.  
  
Just as Jackson  reaches the portion of the journal dedicated to shrapnel removal, his chamber doors bursts open and Isaac comes running inside full tilt, blonde hair matted to his skull with sweat and face red with exertion.  
  
Startled, Jackson stands. “What in the world…?”  
  
“There was a collapse in the caverns. Jeffrey was pinned beneath rock and we’ve managed to free him but we the physician is away. We need you.”  
  
“I’m a surgeon,” Isaac’s words fall over him like ice water and instantly he feels overwhelmed, and numbingly afraid.  Panic makes him back away,  “I’ve only been trained in the most basic of procedures--”  
  
“You have years of experience.” Despite his retreat,  Isaac grabs his hand and pulls him to the door with surprising strength. “You have to at least try and help.”  
  
Making one last desperate attempt to shirk the task, Jackson shakes his head, “I don’t have any of my tools.”  
  
“Our healer set for the capitol but he left this.” Isaac thrusts a dirty burlap sack into his arms. “Jeffrey won’t stop bleeding, Jackson, please.”  
  
There‘s no  other choice then; there never is.  
  
From the courtyard they mount readied horses to the village, riding past the mills and through the small creak before reaching a cluster of huts.  Isaac dismounts beside a small but tidy cottage. A gangly man meets them outside of it, his face is pale, eyes bloodshot.  
  
Once inside, Jackson stifles his shock with a stoicism he perfected in war. A boy of less than five summers lays ashen on tiny small bed, his head pillowed on his mother’s lap.  The sheets are bloodied, and when Jackson moves them away he inhales sharply.  
  
The boy’s right leg is broken in at least three places, a jagged cut running down the top of his thigh to reveal white bone. There’s no time to indulge his panic. Setting the bag down on the packed earth floor, Jackson rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up, gets on his knees beside mother and child.  
  
Careful not to cause more pain than necessary, Jackson prods gently around the torn flesh with hand she shake only lightly. It would be easier if the child wasn’t in this form. “Can he shift?”  
  
“No, m’lord.” The father replies. “He’s too young to do so without the full moon.”  
  
“Mama.” The little boy sobs, clutching at his mother’s skirts as he looks at Jackson with big tearful eyes. “Don’t make it h-hurt.”  
  
But it will be painful, there is no other way and once again, Jackson finds himself in the position of both healer and torturer.  
  
“Can you help him?”  
  
This time however, it’s not a friend he’s letting down, or a soldier, but a child.  
  
“Jackson!”  
  
Isaac’s voice brings him back to the present.  
  
“I h….have to stop the bleeding.” While Weres do not bleed out as  easily as humans, it’s a possibility in one so young. Jackson opens the medical supply bag, relieved when he sees the familiar  bloom of dried poppy within a cheese cloth. Acting quickly, he grinds them in the mortar with water and, forces it past the child’s lips.  
  
“For the pain?” The mother asks as her boy sputters, chokes to swallow the thin liquid.  
  
“Yes.” Sweat beads at Jackson’s brow, dropping to sting in his eyes. “But even with, it will be… difficult for him.”  
  
The first push of his needle makes the boy go rigid, and he screams, a sound Jackson knows he will never forget. Another scene to keep him awake.  As he thrashes, the boy’s parents move to restrain him and mercifully after the fifth stitch he loses consciousness.  
  
After that Jackson works as quickly as he can, sewing up the jagged gash  on his arm and  chest efficiently, hands shaking only slightly. The leg is another matter entirely. There’s nothing he can do but try and align the bone and set it as best he can. The father fetches sticks to bind the limb and Jackson does so primitively; he’s had no experience in injuries such as these.  
  
“He was very brave.” Jackson tells the mother when she cries her thanks. “Monitor him closely and send for me if his condition worsens or if he develops fever.”  
  
Brushing off the couple’s words of gratitude and offer for payment, Jackson steps outside of their hut into the cool evening air. The moment he’s alone, he collapses, back sagging against the cold wall as he tries to steady himself. He breathes huge gulps of the crisp night air, tries to quell his shaking hands. Shit. It’s all hitting him at once, memories he didn’t want to face.  
  
The door creaks open and Jackson pushes away from the wall,  walking briskly for the main road. He leaves the horse, would rather spend the extra time alone then have to face Isaac.  
  
Ignoring his obvious need for solitude, Isaac runs after him and catches his elbow. He offers a tentative smile and but all Jackson can smel is the blood that still stains his hands.  
  
 “You did well.”  
  
“I did what I could.” And it wasn’t nearly enough, it never was.  
  
“You did something, and they appreciated it.” Isaac replies softly, hand remaining on his arm. “Without you, Jeffrey would surely have perished.”  
  
“And many have died with me.”  
  
A flicker of some emotion that calms him crosses Isaac‘s amber eyes, “I’m certain even then that you did what you could. Death is an unpleasant part of life, yet it is the end for all the living.”  
  
Images Jackson’s fought to bury  swim to the surface, bombard him from every side. He can hear his friends’ voices, amongst the screams… he still can hear Derek’s. That hurts the most, that he had thought he lost Derek and he‘d mourned for him, only to realize that all the death around them had been brought by his hand.  
  
“What do you know of war?” The helplessness is what Jackson  finds the hardest to take and anger is always a willing ally.  “You don’t know me; you can spout your nonsense words of comfort but they’re worthless.”  
  
“I may not know you, but I did just watch you take care of a child when you didn’t have to, without promise of coin or acclaim. I saw the concentration, the care you took because you truly wanted to give aid.” Isaac’s gaze is unnerving and Jackson finds himself looking away first.  
  
They walk in silence for several moments, neither commenting on Isaac’s hand still heavy  against his sleeve.  
  
“I’m taking a late supper,” Isaac says as they cross the gates. “ It’s nothing overly fancy just bread and sweet jam; join me.” He grins. “ I promise, no cheese.”  
  
“And Adam?”  
  
Isaac’s hand drops away and Jackson curses his stupid tongue.  
  
“So you do know his name is not ‘hooligan.’”  
  
Jackson looks away, shrugging. “I just assumed you’d take dinner with him.”  
  
“Why are you assuming anything when it comes to who I’m with? Why do you even care?”  
  
Because I want you as my own.  
  
But he will never admit that aloud. “I find I have nothing else to do in this god forsaken land.”  
  
“Liar.” The insult is punctuated with a smile, and surprisingly enough Isaac’s tone is teasing. “I’ve seen you glaring at us from your window.”  
  
“You mistake my intentions, boredom draws my gaze to the courtyard.”  
  
Isaac laughs. “Not that its any business of yours, but Adam is my friend.”  
  
“Nothing more?”  
  
“Nothing more.”  
  
“But he wants more.”  
  
“Does he?”  
  
“No one could spend that much time with you and not want you.”  
  
“Not everything is about… sex.”  
  
“I didn’t say that it was.”  
  
Isaac stares at him for several long seconds and Jackson realizes he’s revealed much more to both Isaac and himself than he intended.  
  
“You’re insufferable, and yet, I’ll ask once more, would you like to accompany me for supper?”  
  
As words have become his enemy, Jackson simply nods and allows Isaac to lead the way.  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
It’s been weeks since Derek set foot within the blacksmiths walls, not since his mating. Truthfully, he’s been avoiding it for precisely this reason.  As is usual, Alec is behind the worn counter. He’s bent over his task, chestnut hair hanging over his head forehead, hiding his green eyes. He’s well muscled but slight of form, lithe in a way that appeals to an alpha’s base desires.    
  
Prior to his mating, Derek would’ve stopped in for much more than  conversation.  The affair with Alec had been easy, mindless pleasure that he’d desperately needed in the wake of Kate but now it feels like an indiscretion.  
  
“Alec.”  
  
Alec looks up, smile spreading with familiarity. “Good day, m’lord.”  
  
In response, Derek gives him a tight smile, “Is your father in?”  
  
“He’s just out back,” Alec steps in his path when Derek starts to walk away. His chest brushes against Derek’s and Derek takes a deliberate step back. “Why the hurry? Stay for some conversation.”  
  
“Apologies,” They never really spoke when they were together. “I’ve no time to spare.”  
  
“Or you want to avoid me.” Alec wisely deducts, but he doesn‘t look put out. In fact he looks amused. “Fear not, I know the throes of mating are still upon you.”  
  
Derek’s relief, however,  is short lived.  
  
“All know that the pup forced your hand in the mating, news has spread from the capitol.” He winks. “When you tire of the little virgin, seek me out.”  
  
Rage flows through him and Derek is across the room in an instant, canines bared and hands around Alec’s throat. The other Were’s eyes are wide, hands scrambling uselessly at Derek’s forearm.  
  
“Derek…I can’t…”  
  
“Never speak of my mate in such a manner. The next time I won’t be so merciful.” Derek releases his grip and Alec inhales nosily, color bleeding back into his ashen cheeks. “ And tell all who spread baseless lies the truth: I chose Stiles of my own volition and would do so again.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Stiles comes to a stop outside of a small hut. Outside of the door is a wooden plaque, the sign of a cobbler. He’s noticed that Derek favors his uninjured leg, and not merely because its weaker but because his gait is slightly uneven. Stiles isn’t even sure when he noticed but he knows that the extra stress must be manifesting in severe pain.  
  
There may not be much Stiles can do to alleviate the reality of Derek’s permanent injury, and truthfully, there isn’t much. Not even Dr. Deaton’s manuscripts deal with injuries of this caliber, primarily because Weres heal themselves. Stiles had spent an entire day trying to find something, anything, before he thought of a simple solution of his own.  
  
Derek however, is much too proud to knowingly wear something like what he has in mind. In fact, when the pain is really bad, Stiles notices he’d rather remain bedridden than utilize the cane.  
  
So here Stiles is after tricking Isaac into showing him where the cobbler dwells under pretence of fashioning riding boots for himself.  
  
The main room is dark when Stiles enters,  dusty and heavy with the scent of leather.  
  
“One moment, Jake.” The presumed owner calls, head bent as he puncture supple leather with an awl. “Just finishin’ up.”  
  
“I’m not Jake,” Stiles responds, trying not to fidget in the small space. “Take your time.” He’s still not sure exactly what it is he’s looking for. There are a few boots on display, some  embellished with Derek’s crest and Stiles studies them closely.  
  
Just as Stiles runs a finger down the sleek steal wing of the engraved raven and wolf, the cobbler steps out in front of him.  
  
“A beauty isn’t it?” The man smiles, displaying two gaps in his teeth. “Some of my finest work, so you know, not for sale.”  
  
Stiles steps back, “It’s impeccable craftsmanship.”  
  
“Well then…” The cobbler looks from his gleaming shoes to the fine stitching on his coat and Stiles can see his mind work. “ I could be persuaded to sell it for a price, seeing as you have such an appreciation for it.”  
  
“Another day perhaps. I’m here for just an instep. It‘s a pressing matter and I‘d rather attend to it first.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
 “An instep--something to add height, shaped to the boot.”  
  
The man wipes his hand on a small towel, squints back at him before he guffaws. “You mean a heel.”  
  
“Something of the kind, but inside and unnoticeable.”  
  
“To make you taller?”  
  
“To make up for a height difference.” Stiles drops a small pouch of coin in his hand. “I’d like it done immediately, please,  and privacy is of utmost concern..”  
  
Understanding dawns and the cobbler instantly straighten, “As you wish, my lord.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Stiles turns in his sleep, hands instinctively reaching for Derek only to find him gone, sheets cool. He’s confused until he sits up and catches light coming in from the sitting room that adjoins their chambers.  
  
After he slips on a robe, Stiles walks over to the room silently, peeks through the slightly ajar door. Derek is sitting in the overstuffed arm chair, fire blazing behind him. His bad leg is stretched out in from of him resting on  footstool. There’s a glass of brandy in Derek’s left hand, his other hand is on his thigh massaging.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Derek‘s head snaps in his direction, expression displeased, “I’m fine, return to bed.”  
  
“Is your leg bothering you?”  
  
“No, I just want to remain awake all night.”  
  
“Should I…“ There’s never any right words to say when Derek gets like this. But Stiles attempts to tread lightly. “Would a hot bath help?”  
  
“I just came from one.” Derek gestures to his black robe and damp hair. “The pain will cease only when my senses are completely overtaken.”  
  
“I could--”  
  
“Stiles just get to bed!”  
  
“You don’t have to be such a bastard!” Stiles yells right back. He’s had about enough of this ‘understanding‘ mate  role he‘s been forcing himself to play. “I know you’re in pain, and I just want to help.”  
  
Derek glares at him but when Stiles doesn’t move, he grunts. “Do as you like.”  
  
Aware of Derek observing, Stiles fills the half empty cauldron with the rest of the water he finds in the bedside pitcher. While he waits for the water to boil, Stiles looks around for something to use, and finding no materials he takes Derek’s straight razor and sets it to the edge of his night shirt.  
  
Derek decides to speak up. “You’re ruining a perfectly--”  
  
“I have dozens.” Stiles replies briskly, completely engrossed in his task.  “My nightshirt sacrificing his life will be well worth it.”  
  
That earns a small laugh, and Stiles works even faster. In minutes he’s cut several long, thin strips, similar to the drawings Jackson had showed him in Dr. Deaton’s journal for binding a dismemberment.  
  
The water is hot enough that it’s painful, staining his palms red and leaving his flesh stinging but Stiles doesn’t stop. He wraps the first hot strip over Derek’s bare upper thigh, pulling the material tight over the mangled muscle.  
  
Derek hisses at the contact and Stiles looks up concerned  “Are you--”.  
  
“Keep going.”  
  
By  the time the last strip has been bound Derek’s visibly relaxed, muscles going lax and his head resting back against the chair. His hair is past due for a cut, hanging boyishly around his face.  
  
Unable to resist, Stiles leans up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Better?”  
  
“Much.” There’s surprise in Derek’s voice, even more so hope, and Stiles feels ten feet tall. “It’s never been…it’s much better.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
The harvest is finally behind them, the last of the corn and grain packed away for the winter months. The heavy labor is over  and all the alphas are out for celebration, seeking to  wet their thirst with spirits and fill their bellies with too much food.  
  
The leanness of the past  year has allowed Derek to be liberal with meat and poultry, bread and jam, butter, all of the things they have forgone for the good of the pack. Derek himself is even taken aback as he takes in the spread that awaits them.  
  
“This boar is so tender.” Miles moans next to him, and Derek frowns, fixes the foot soldier with a questioning gaze. Misinterpreting his expression, Miles extends a hunk of meat to him. “For you, my lord.”  
  
“There is no boar.” Derek shakes his head, “We did not have the men to spare to go south and hunt.”  
  
“And yet, this is the finest boar I’ve had in all my years.”  
  
That is when Derek realizes that it is indeed boar, and he shoves past Miles, nodding as people call his name, bow to him in greeting. He pushes his way to the great hall, crossing through the double doors that have been tied open. The banquet that is laid out before him leaves him in shock.  
  
The table is laden from top to bottom with delicacies he’s certain they did not two day ago upon his departure. The smells coming from the kitchen and surrounding area are more than just beef and poultry. In fact, the focus of the table are several suckling pigs, beautifully roasted, complete with apples. There are also breads of every variety, warm puddings, mash, corn,  sweet cakes, tarts ands scones.  
  
 _Stiles._  
  
Derek grits his teeth. The little liar went behind his back, ignored his wishes and somehow had brought all of  this into his castle without him noticing. As occupied as he was with bringing the harvest  in, it wouldn’t have been too hard.  Derek would bet his entire livelihood that  the snake Jackson had a hand in this.  
  
Turning on his heel, Derek nearly knocks down a heavy set beta with long black braids. He doesn’t recognize her, and says as much.  
  
“I’m Lisa, my lord.” The woman says as if that explains it all, there’s a steaming pot of bread pudding in her hands. She thrusts the pot forward as if to back her claim, “The cook.”  
  
“I already have a cook, her name is Catherine.”  
  
“Of course my lord, and now you have a new staff.”  
  
What? “There’s been some misunderstanding.”  
  
“I’ve cooked for Master Stilinkski for the past eight years, my staff --Sharon, Jessica, Keith and Ben--are all professionally trained.”  
  
“And by Master Stilinkski you mean…?”  
  
“The Baron of Wisteria.”  
  
 _Fucking Jackson._  
  
Anger propelling him Derek walks away from the woman without any further words and goes outdoors. In the fading light of dusk he can that the slight crowd has grown, children running in circles and amusing themselves while the adults talk and jest. There are mock battles being shown, archery contests in the works.  
  
And Stiles is in the midst of it, set up beneath a tree with boxes of toffee and pralines scattered about. He’s laughing, jacket catching the green of his eyes and highlighting the blush of his cheek. The little pups are swarming, hands grabbing the sugary sweets in delight while Cloud barks her approval of their enthusiasm from behind Stiles’ leg. It would be enchanting if he weren’t furious.  
  
Before Derek can storm over, however, Jacqueline Kelly steps into his path. She’s a seamstress by trade, has designed numerous items for him, even the tapestry hanging in the great hall had been woven by her hand. She’s known great loss and as such, she appears older than her years is usually quiet. But not today.  Today, she’s smiling in full force, eyes a tad shy but determined.  
  
“Happy Harvest, my lord.” She places a cup of hot, spiced cider into his hands. “For you, made by mother.”  
  
“Same to you.” Derek takes the drink, “You are in high spirits this eve.”  
  
“We all are!” Her sister, Claire pipes up. “And we owe it to you. There are things I’ve never even seen before, it’s all so stylish! I feel as if I‘ve been transported to the capitol.”  
  
Derek doesn’t know how to tell them that none of this is his doing, that all of this lavishness will disappear as soon as he can wring Stiles’ neck.  
  
“Chocolate.” Claire hands him a small bar wrapped in cheesecloth. “Like in France. Can you even imagine? I’m having chocolates!”  
  
Not to be outdone, the youngest Kelley, five year old Emily leaps over, nearly tripping on her long blue skirts as she does.  
  
“So yummy!” Little Emily squeals, hands muddy with the sweet. “Have some!”  
  
Derek shakes his head, instead, he takes the wrapped candy Claire had given him and tucks it into the front pocket of her apron. “You should have one for later.”  
  
“I’m gonna keep it for tomorrow!” Emily declares blue eyes bright with excitement  and emotion makes his throat tight as he remembers her father. Jonathan had been one of the first to fall,  found with his head severed and body doused in wolfs bane. She has his eyes. “Thank you, Duke Dewek!”  
  
“Emmie,” Isaac comes over to tickle her side, “There are green apples being had, you don’t want to miss it, do you?”  
  
Her eyes go wide and she shakes her head emphatically before she takes off running. Jacqueline follows with another smile in his direction, taking Claire with her.  
  
“That was sweet.” Isaac remarks when they‘re alone. He bumps their shoulders together. “It seems you’re not so adverse to Stiles additions.”  
  
“He should have heeded my command.”  
  
“Command.” Isaac repeats the word with a thread of disdain and  much amusement. “You sound like Jackson.”  
  
Derek shudders, “Never repeat those words to me again.”  
  
Just then Stiles looks up from the crate of apples he’s been busily unpacking. His expression goes from bright and happy to slightly guilty and defiant.  
  
Looking like he‘s walking to the gallows, Stiles comes over when Derek motions him forward. “I see you’ve added several items to our menu.”  
  
Stiles winces, “Derek, I know you’re angry--”  
  
“I’m not.” Derek looks at the children, so happy for such simple things that he can not give them.  He can admit he was wrong. “You were right.”  
  
“I was?!”  
  
“You were.” Derek says once more, and before he can think upon it further, wraps an arm about Stiles’ waist to draw him to his side. “Thank you for your disobedience.”  
  
“I never thought anyone would ever say that to me.”  
  
“Don’t get accustomed to it.” Aware of his pack watching them fondly, Derek bends down slightly to press a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Your heart was in the right place, it was with my people.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
From his post near the gates,  Jackson watches the festivities. It’s remarkable how happy these people are with so little. Their joy is contagious, and even though it’s too cold and the fare is still below his usual standard, Jackson finds himself smiling as the moon climbs high.  
  
At least the wine and brandy are of quality. Jackson had made sure his father sent his favored spirits, aged liquor that goes down smooth. The other men seem to enjoy it as well, but interchange the fine wine with sweet mead.  Jackson does the same, and to his astonishment he finds the home brew to be quite delicious, foreign flavors welcoming with a low heat.  
  
Huge bonfires have been lit in the holes men dug out earlier, lighting the darkness and chasing back the damp autumn air. There are men in their human forms and just as many in their Were. In polite society that kind of thing isn’t done, but it seems to be the norm in the North, no one looks scandalized and after a moment Jackson doesn‘t mind.  
  
The sky is never like this in the city , the stars never so clear,  and he recalls Isaac’s words about the pull of it,  he can sense that now.  
  
“Another, my lord?” A pretty omega asks, and Jackson extends lifts  cup. She’s pretty, long blond hair and sweet brown eyes.  The woman has been watching him for the better part of the evening. Judging by the way she’s bent over to refill his cup, she’s more than willing.  
  
“Thank you.” Against his better instincts, Jackson’s eyes drift down to her breasts for a moment.  It’s been a long time since he’s been with another person. “Your service is much appreciated.”  
  
“I’m extremely hospitable, my lord.”  
  
Jackson looks past her,  watches Adam’s hand fall around Isaac’s shoulders possessively. They’ve been that way for much of the evening. Adam’s gift of tongue draws many to his side. He clenches his teeth. “And how far does that hospitality extend?”  
  
Her smile goes hungry, full lips pursed. “As far as you desire.”  
  
Why not? Jackson thinks. He may as well take what is offered. It’s not as if Isaac cares or even notices his comings or goings.  
  
Dropping his cup to the ground, Jackson rises to his feet. “Show me your lands.”  
  
“Gladly--”  
  
“Bella!” The girl is suddenly yanked away and Isaac is in her place, face twisted in distaste. “Your husband is looking for you.”  
  
Shooting Isaac a venomous look, Bella pulls her hand free of his and flounces off.  
  
“You’re welcome.” Isaac says when Jackson merely sits back down. “I saved you from her murderous alpha, he‘s nearly twice your weight.”  
  
“I can fend for myself.”  
  
“So you wanted to seduce a mated woman.”  
  
“I wasn’t the one doing the seducing.”  
  
“That I did notice.” Isaac mutters, tapping his foot against Jackson‘s boot. “Anyway, she’s only  after coin.”  
  
“Is that what you interfered?” Jackson feels odd, he’s never felt the need to tease, to gently coax another to his affections but he feels that way now.  Even more so when Isaac blushes and looks angry enough to spit fire.“ To protect my fragile feelings and virtue?”  
  
“You suffer from delusion, I had other purpose. I know you had a hand in the chocolates being delivered.” Isaac sits down next to him and he smells delicious, like night air and pine. “I came to offer thanks.”  
  
The look Isaac is giving him makes Jackson feel uncomfortable, he has an insane urge to smile. Not wanting Isaac to see just how moved he is by simple words, he looks away, towards the bonfire. “My brother wanted them, as much as Stiles pains me, he is the only little brother I have. He’d have to demand far more than chocolates to earn my denial.”  
  
“The children greatly appreciate it, some have never had a sweet in their lives. We ration all we have.”  
  
“Because of the war?”  
  
“The king claims not to blame Derek and yet he has not rewarded him We expended much of our resources in those first years alone.”  
  
“But Derek mated my brother.”  
  
Isaac looks at him blankly, “And?”  
  
“He married into a very, very wealthy family.” Jackson states the obvious. “My father sent Stiles’ dowry as well as the gifts, this castle will be sustained once again.”  
  
“We’re a proud people.”  
  
“Accepting aid does not imply weakness.”  
  
“I never would’ve thought to hear such wise words from you.”  
  
“Perhaps being among all this squalor is changing me.”  
  
“And there’s the pompous jerk I know--”  
  
“And love.” Jackson interjects.  
  
The word falls heavily between them, and all traces of Isaac’s smile melt away.  
  
They stare at one another, neither speaking and Jackson is at a loss. All around them people continue to celebrate, some Weres howling at the bitten moon.  
  
Isaac looks away first. “I’m meant to be clearing dishes away.”  
  
“Don’t.” Jackson catches his fingers, impulsively brings them to his lips. “Walk with me.”  
  
The firelight casts a warm glow on Isaac‘s face, “I’m sure Bella would be better suited to what you have in mind.”  
  
“What I have in mind is trading words with a man who insults me.”  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
“Well,  I’d be a  pathetic alpha if I didn’t try and at least steal a kiss.” Jackson grins, “Still want to accompany me?”  
  
Isaac grins, “I now must accompany you, just to see you try.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
It had been quite a feat but Stiles had managed to not only bring Derek’s boots to the cobbler but to slip the customized sole into two pairs. He’d rather have chosen the tall black, because Derek prefers to wear them daily but he couldn’t access them without his knowledge. So instead, Stiles had taken the tan and the dark brown leather. Derek had been perplexed when Stiles suggested he wear the tan but blessedly he’d slipped the shoes on without question before heading to tour the Northern walls. Upon his return, Stiles had noticed that although Derek had still had discomfort, the ever present tense lines of  pain were gone.  
  
More so, Derek’s taken to wearing the tan boots every day and Stiles is nearly bursting with pride. The nights where he drinks himself to oblivion to dull the pain are few. And Stiles is more than prepared to spend their nights occupied elsewhere.  
  
It’s been weeks since Stiles has had his mate to himself.  
  
The small table that Stiles instructed Keith to carry into their room is draped in a beautiful, black silk table cloth and covered in wildflowers, dried, fragrant petals scattered across the table top. More of his belongings had arrived with his father’s chocolates, among them heirlooms.  Stiles had fished out his mother’s candle holders and the burnished gold stems catch the candle light perfectly. He’d spent the afternoon directing, taking cues from Claire of all people, who had turned out to be quite the romantic.  
  
After straightening the polished silverware for the hundredth time , Stiles takes a deep breath and looks at his final product. It’s perfect. The only thing missing is a certain tall, dark and handsome Were.  
  
“So what do you think?” Stiles asks Claire, seeking reassurance.  It all feels rather silly now, something that Derek will see as childish and he’s regretting even embarking on this. “Is this alright?”  
  
“More than.” Claire nods enthusiastically, eyes sparkling, she’s even more excited than he is. “ It’s positively magical!”  
  
“Derek is going to laugh at me.”  
  
“Probably.” Isaac chooses that moment to come in with the dinner tray. “But this food, let me tell you, it’s nothing to laugh at. Lisa must’ve been instructed by the gods themselves. Her rosemary roast chicken takes me to heights unknown.”  
  
Stiles hides a grin at the compliment and takes the carving knife from Isaac’s hands. “I’ll do it myself.”  
  
“He prefers--”  
  
“The dark meat.” Stiles finishes.  
  
“You know,” Isaac seems impressed. “So the menu of roast carrots and potatoes are no coincidence?”  
  
“I’ve known Derek since I was  a child, I know all there is to know of him.”  
  
“Then I wish you the best of luck in your pursuits.” Isaac flicks the curtains shut. “Perhaps you‘ll even conceive this night, these halls have been too long absent the echo of children‘s laughter.”  
  
At Stiles’ fierce blush, both Claire and Isaac burst into laughter.  
  
“Come now,” Claire winks and Stiles is once again amazed at the boldness of the Weres in the countryside. “You’ve thought of little ones, have you not?”  
  
Stiles smiles weakly. “I haven‘t.”  
  
“But it’s natural to--”  
  
“Claire, you forget your place.” Isaac grabs  the girl’s hand and leads her  to the door.  He smiles at Stiles as he leaves. “We leave you to your romance.”  
  
“Wait!” Stiles doesn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, “I need you to calm me! I don’t. I’m not good at this, I haven’t--”  
  
“Okay, then.” Isaac says. “Take a deep breath.” Stiles inhales. “And calm down, it’s just dinner.”  
  
“It’s more than that...at least for me.  I…I don’t want my mating to continue in the manner it is, I want. I. I really want this to work with us.”  
  
Isaac studies him thoughtfully. “So this really is more than infatuation?”  
  
“Of course it is! I know what Derek thinks but he’s wrong. ”  
  
“I’ve noticed his eyes upon you often when you’re unaware. His gaze follows where you go, and his smile rarely ceases. It is a thing I’ve never before seen… not even with Kate.”  
  
“Thank you,.” Warmth suffuses him. Too often he wonders about her, the human that Derek had loved enough to share all of himself with.  “I really needed to hear that.”  
  
The door opens and Derek walks inside clad in his usual black breeches and a black shirt. The top buttons are undone and Stiles can see the hint of muscle peeping out at him.  
  
“Dinner in our chambers?” Derek frowns, looking after Isaac and Claire when they retreat hastily. “Why not the hall?”  
  
“I thought it‘d be nice to have some privacy.” Stiles looks up at Derek shyly through his lashes. Derek hasn’t shaved since that morning and Stiles can see the dark shadow of stubble along his jaw. He loves the way Derek’s stubbles scrapes against his skin.  
  
“Then privacy we shall have,” Derek closes the door shut behind them. He moves toward the laden dinner table.  After Stiles is seated, Derek sits down looking at the food appreciatively. “Looks good, and its pheasant, more evidence of yours and Jackson‘s disobedience.”  
  
“When will you let that go and just enjoy?”  
  
Derek grins sheepishly. “You’re quite right, and I have to admit, there are some other changes I‘m enjoying; your father‘s stable hands are doing wonders with the Arabians.”  
  
Stiles watches Derek as he eats, only taking small bites of roast pheasant himself. Derek is devouring his food with the single minded attention of a starving man. Stiles smiles, twirling his wine glass.  
  
“Despite his flaws,.” Derek takes another bite of  his potatoes. “Jackson’s staff is impeccable.”  
  
“Actually, I am impeccable.” Stiles looks at Derek from over the edge of his wine glass. “I prepared dinner.”  
  
Derek’s brows rise in surprise. “You?”  
  
“I do cook, sparingly. My mother was a patisserie, that’s how she and Father met…and why I have a love for chocolates.  Matt, Taylor and Jack are much older than I, so while you all went off to tear through the woods, I followed our cook about and picked up a few things along the way.”  
  
“More than a few things, this is delicious.”  
  
“Don‘t get used to this…I rather detest domesticity…” Stiles lifts a shoulder in surrender. “And , I have just this one meal I can execute perfectly. ”  
  
“I wouldn‘t mind having this every day.”  
  
“Derek?” And Stiles’ voice sounds hesitant even to his own ears. “I’m sorry if I presumed anything...about how you lead your people, I just thought that I could -” Derek leans over the table and kisses him soundly. When he pulls back Stiles is dazed. “What was that for?”  
  
“You’re more than I asked for, and yet I find you’re everything I need.” Derek smiles. “There shall be no further apologies between us, none could force my hand.”  
  
“But Jackson--”  
  
“Lost the duel, and yet I mated you still, never doubt that it was my choice.”  
  
Stiles is dazed. “Why…? Why would you?”  
  
“Stiles, I’ve known you since you were but a scrap of fur, that being so, I care about your future.”  
  
“So it is but brotherly affection that moves you.”  
  
“Our nights should be full proof that I care for you not as a little brother but as a man. ” Derek stands and pulls Stiles up into his arms. “I thought I knew you and yet, I do not.”  
  
“I can say the same for you.”  
  
“And how do you find the man before you as compared to that in the past?”  
  
Stiles looks up at him solemnly, brings a hand to his cheek. “I find that both men are still you.”  
  
Cautiously taking the lead, Stiles pushes gently at Derek’s shoulders, backing him towards the wall.  
  
Dark eyes follow Stiles’ movements intently. “What do you want me to do?”  
  
“I think you should be asking me what I want to do to you.”  Stiles undoes the leather laces of  Derek’s breeches, sliding a hand inside to curl around his hardening cock.  
  
“Stiles…”  
  
“I wish to take you in my mouth..”  
  
Eyes stunned but arousal peaked, Derek moves back against the wall, widening his stance when Stiles goes to his knees . Stiles licks his lips, eyes riveted to Derek’s beautifully flushed cock. He moved forward, holding the hot flesh in his hands, stroking the shaft before pressing a closed mouth kiss to the tip. Matters of the flesh still embarrass him but as his heat cycle draws near, desire pushes back reservation.  
  
Derek’s hands sifts through Stiles’ hair. “You look incredible on your knees for me.”  
  
Stiles drags his tongue up the underside of Derek’s cock. He continues like that for several moments, licking the length with explorative kittenish swipes, re-learning Derek’s texture and taste. Stiles seals his mouth over the head, sucking softly to taste. Bitter fluid explodes on his tongue. Tasting Derek is turning him on incredibly, his own dick is painfully hard in his breeches as he sucks hungrily.  
  
Derek tilts his head back against the wall. “Fuck.”  
  
Stiles increases his efforts, pulling at Derek’s cock hard with his mouth, drinking in the salty spurts and letting his pre-come slide down the back of his throat. He pulls back, fisting Derek with his hand, staring up at him. He licks his lips and Derek groans anew.  
  
Derek leads Stiles’ mouth back down on his dick. “Take me in deeper.” Derek commands his voice hoarse.    
  
Stiles takes a deep breath, breathing in through his nostrils before slowly working his mouth down over the shaft, fighting the natural urge to choke when the head of Derek’s cock nudges against the back of his throat.  
  
“Fuck…" Derek lets out a strangled sound. “So fucking good…look so good sucking my cock, baby.”  
  
Stiles pulls off, gasping for air. “ Do you…should I keep going?”  
  
Ignoring his question, Derek grasps Stiles’ arm pulling him to his feet and towards the bed, shedding their remaining articles of clothing along the way.  
  
“You’re going to be the death of me.” Derek groans.  His hands sliding down Stiles’ back to cup his ass. “I want you. Now.”  
  
Stiles gives Derek a sultry smile and pulls away, moving until he’s sitting on the bed. Derek follows him a predatory gleam in his eyes.  
  
After joining Stiles on the bed, Derek turns Stiles on to his side, moving to frame him from behind. He hooks his arm under Stiles’ knee, firmly pulling his leg up and back over his hips.  
  
“Derek,”  Stiles tried to roll over onto his back but Derek stops him. He lets out a sound of frustration.  “Please.”  
  
“I know.” Derek angles his hips forward, sliding his thick cock forward. Stiles shudders, realizing in that moment that Derek can claim him in the position they were in. Stiles’ pushes his hips back, moaning at the slick, hot slide of Derek between his legs.  
  
“I’m ready.”  
  
“You sure?” Derek asks but the head of his  cock is already pushing Stiles’ hole. He moans against his neck and Stiles knows that Derek is finding him slick. “You’re so wet.”  
  
Stiles face is hot with a blush and he hides it in the pillow, hand joining Derek’s were it grips his hip. Derek sucks hard on the side of Stiles’ neck, bringing blood to the surface, uncaring that the mark will be visible to others. Stiles gasps as Derek plays with his nipples, teasing the flesh into hardened nubs.  
  
“You drive me to madness.”  
  
“Derek, please, I- oh!” Stiles screams when Derek plunges into him, thick and hot.  
  
Hefting Stiles’ leg higher over his hip, Derek angles his thrusts, plunging into his tight channel hard. Stiles’ body is sucking him in greedily, gripping him tightly while Stiles mewls and sobs his pleasure, hands fisting in the sheets.  
  
Each hard thrust from behind propels him forward on the bed and Stiles screws his eyes shut tightly, struggling to catch his breath even as his body trembles in mindless pleasure.  
  
Unable to control himself, Stiles comes, his vision going black as he sprays come across the sheets. Derek is thrusting into him wildly now, his rhythm hard and fast, wild and lacking finesse. Stiles holds on for the ride as his spent cock twitches desperately.  
  
Half a dozen thrusts later Derek is coming, spilling hot inside of him. Stiles can feel his knot, big and heavy, pressing and seeking entrance. A flash of pain as he’s filled to near bursting when the knot finally slips inside. Acting against instinct, Stiles pushes back against him and Derek groans.  
  
After his knot had deflated enough, Derek pulls out carefully, noting Stiles’ wince. "I was too rough.”  
  
“Mmm,” Stiles agrees, flopping down on him. “But I like it.”  
  
Derek looks shocked for a moment but then laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners and head thrown back. It’s been so long since Stiles has seen him that way, has made him that way.  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Jackson has spent his day in the dirt of all places, shoulders close enough to brush against Isaac’s as they uprooted turnips, carrots, potatoes and  other vegetation from a villager's garden. However, his complaints had dried on his tongue once Adam showed up, simple face cheerful and willing.  
  
That had sent off some competition that only the two of them seemed to be aware of. For every laugh Adam coaxed out of Isaac, Jackson vowed to fill a basket. As a result he fills five more than anyone, even Adam had been impressed.  
  
When the sun sets the small group disbands, and the others set for their homes. As Jackson seethes, Adam invites Isaac to enjoy fresh fish his hooligan alpha has apparently caught. It’s clear the invitation doesn’t extend to Jackson.  
  
Ready to accept defeat, and there is no way Jackson can do so with grace, he stalks off down the well traveled path, letting the light from the castles torches guide him.  
  
Jackson’s so surprised he jumps and trips down to his ass when Isaac comes up along side him, strides matching his own. Its with much laughter than Isaac pulls him to his feet.  
  
“You’ve ruined your gentleman’s hands.” Isaac teases quietly, catching Jackson’s hand between his calloused palms. “These blister will leave their mark.”  
  
“I care not.” Secretly, Jackson is proud that he’s accomplished something, anything; pride in his work has always been fleeting. “I bested you today.”  
  
“At pulling turnips.”  
  
“Which thanks to me you shall feast on all winter long.”  
  
“And you as well.”  
  
“If the depths of winter find me here.”  
  
Some of the laughter fades, and the wind carries it far away. “I forget you belong to the capitol.”  
  
“My life is so stationed.”  
  
“You mean your title.”  
  
“And without such, what am I? “  
  
“You are you.”  
  
Jackson retorts, half in jest. “A peacock?”  
  
“I do not think so, not anymore.” They reach the castle walls and the watchmen bow to Jackson as he passes. Several more call out to Isaac, exchange words and Jackson finds himself drawn in by their coarse jokes and  mundane happenings.  
  
When they approach the main hall, Jackson stops, prepared to seek his quarters on the left but Isaac shakes his head, fingers catching on his jacket.  
  
“Come,” Isaac says, words just this side of shy. “I’d speak with you more this night.”  
  
Jackson goes still, eyes searching Jackson’s for a hint of anything, but the boy just smiles gently and tugs him along. Once they’re outside of the chambers, Jackson pauses once more.  
  
“Isaac,” Jackson catches his hand over the door knob, squeezes Isaac’s fingers slightly when he gives him a  questioning glance. “You do realize that an invitation for conversation is rarely for such?”  
  
“I’m aware.”  
  
“So you…?”  
  
“I’d like for you to stay for conversation.” Isaac repeats stoically with all the bravado of  a soldier going off to war. “Whatever that entails.”  
   
Jackson turns the knob, opens the door. “Then after you.”  
  
The room isn’t like he expects, it’s surprisingly spacious decorated with an attention to detail that implies sentimentality. Against one wall is a bookshelf, crammed full of worn books of fables and novels, it’s no wonder that Isaac can best him on the literary front. Right beneath the large window is a desk, the top covered in papers and split ink at the right corner. When Jackson tries to take a closer look at what’s being written, Isaac hurriedly stacks the papers and tucks them away.  
  
“Poetry?” Jackson teases, “Have you been dedicating lines to my golden hair and sunset eyes?”  
  
“You think too highly of yourself.”  
  
“Then why hide them?”  
  
“If you must know, I do write, but not poetry. I’m in the midst of transcribing the stories my grandfather told me.”  
  
“For what end?”  
  
“If I have his words,  I will never forget his voice, and if his voice is with me, I’m not alone.”  
  
Jackson chest aches at the loss he can hear in Isaac‘s voice, see in the downward slope of his shoulders. “I’ve never met someone like you.”  
  
Brushing him off, Isaac walks to the bedside. “Would you like mead or wine?”  
  
Jackson’s eyes fall on the small bed, neatly made up with a multicolored quilt. It looks worn, lived in. “Mead will be fine.”  
  
Grabbing a goblet for himself, Isaac pours a generous amount, “And to think you hated our brew when you first arrived.”  
  
“It has grown on me, like a fungus, I’ve come to rather like it.”  
  
Isaac sets the wine down on the small table near the window before going to the fireplace. As Jackson watches he lights the fire deftly, the bright blaze instantly chasing away the chill. When he’s finished, he sits on the bed. Without pause, Jackson follows, sitting down close enough so that their knees touch.  
  
“Are you going to kiss me then?”  
  
Jackson  doesn’t  respond, not with words. Instead he leans over to kiss Isaac almost shyly. “You taste like wine.” He murmurs, tongue dipping into his mouth. “It’s as though I could get drunk on you alone.”  
  
“Such pretty words.”  
  
“Not unlike your sonnets.”  
  
Isaac laughs at that and Jackson cannot resist kissing him once more.  
  
Pulling back, Jackson rubs his thumb along Isaac’s full bottom lip. Eyes still locked with his, Isaac flicks his tongue out catching Jackson’s finger, licking in tentative strokes before he boldly draws it into the wet heat of his mouth.  
  
Heat spikes through Jackson. “Have you any idea the portrait you make, mouth wrapped around my finger so?” The words are spoken on a rushed breath.  
  
Jackson’s hand moves down Isaac’s back, slip beneath his shirt to brush against his skin, fingertips pressing Isaac forward to fit firmly against him.  Turning them over slightly, Jackson settles over him,  hands sliding down Isaac’s back to his firm ass. This is  what he wanted before, in the meadow where the world was just them and the babble of the creak, the scent of  wildflowers. Jackson kisses Isaac until his lips sting and swell, holds him still as he thrusts down to rub against Isaac’s clothed erection. Beneath him, Isaac whimpers, mouth breaking free from Jackson’s on a gasp, undulating his hips while his breath come out in short pants.  
  
“Jackson--”  
  
“Don’t tell me to stop.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
There’s no way Isaac could still him to stop, even if he wanted to.

As if privy to his thoughts, Jackson grins down at him, fingers tangling in his hair. He licks Isaac’s neck, pulling the flesh into his mouth and sucking hard to bring blood to the surface, marking him.  it’s a possessive thing to do, what one does to their mate, not in a common coupling. It’s as if Jackson wants everyone, every alpha, to know.  
  
The thought sets fire to the very blood in his veins, “Jackson…”  
  
“Say it again.”  
  
“Say what?”  
  
“My name,” Jackson demands, eyes fiery and bright. “I’d hear you say it a hundred times more.”  
  
 “Oh God…Jackson.” Isaac is frantic, past the point of embarrassment as he clutches desperately at Jackson’s broad shoulders. “ Just…please…I need.” He licks his lips. He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. His body feels hot, his skin too tight and a heavy ache had settled between his legs.  
  
“I’ve got you.” Jackson’s voice is hoarse, fingers tight on his hips in a bruising grip. “You‘re incredible, your body... It‘s as if you were made for me.” He licks a bead of sweat from Isaac’s neck, shifting him closer, higher until Jackson’s  completely atop him.  
  
By this time, Isaac’s shaking and when Jackson reaches for the laces of his shirt, he doesn’t stop him. His  nipples peaking at the cool air of the room when Jackson yanks his shirt down to latch unto the hardened nubs.  
  
Isaac  nearly bucks him off at the feel of Jackson’s hot mouth on him so intimately. He’d never - his mind is spinning with need, want. He arches his back, threading his fingers through Jackson’s blonde hair to hold him there. “Jackson, more…” He squirms, moving his hips up into the hard bulge in Jackson’s breeches, grinding his cock against Jackson’s crotch. He’s past caring, past being embarrassed that Jackson is watching him intently with eyes that are black with lust, hearing his all moans and pleas .  
  
Heat ricochets through him, sharp points of pleasure flare as he lets his legs fall further apart on pure instinct. It isn’t long before Jackson’s hands slide down to his hips, holds him immobile as he takes control of the jerky rhythm, moving Isaac even closer.  
  
The friction, the sensation - is too much for Isaac. Soon he’s coming, hot and messy in his breeches, his eyes squeezing shut and still spread out beneath Jackson, jeweled eyes forever watching. Neither look away as Jackson orgasms, knot swelling against Isaac’s belly and his release falling sticky and warm over him.  
  
Jackson grips his hair, slams his mouth down on Isaac’s to kiss him dirtily, “You’re gorgeous when you come.” He bites his lower lip. “You drive me to madness.”  
  
“I’m …I don’t,” He bites his lip, “I’m not going to bed with you.”  
  
“But we are in a bed.” Jackson remarks, “And I’ve just satisfied us both.”  
  
The words leave him cold, “I’m sure an indiscretion is of no significance to you.”  
  
“What makes you think that?”  
  
“You’re a noblemen.”  
  
“You continually insult me, and yet I am not the one who makes assumptions.”  
  
He knows better than to hope, but Isaac can feel it blossom in his chest as his pulse matches the steady beat of the alphas. “Do I judge you wrongly?”  
  
Jackson glowers, nips his collarbone. “Do you have blankets?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I cannot sleep if I’m cold.”  
  
“You’re going to stay?”  
  
“If you have blankets.”  
  
“I…” Isaac leans over the end of the bed into the wooden chest, and comes back with a dark green blanket. “I have this.”  
  
Jackson‘s lip curve into a smile, and Isaac is fascinated by a tuft of blonde hair sticking up at the crown of his head. “Which is a blanket.”  
  
This is such a nerve-wracking experience and Isaac nearly wishes Jackson would just take his leave. “You would probably be more comfortable in the guest chambers, the beds are much bigger, high quality--”  
  
“Are you trying to evict me?” Jackson’s eyes narrow. “I’m definitely staying put now.”  
  
“Do as you like.” Isaac mutters, rising to dampen a washcloth. It’s with a large amount of mortification that he realizes Jackson is watching him wipe the stickiness of his release from his stomach and thighs.  “Can you not do that?”  
  
“You just instructed me to do as I like.”  The words are teasing, soft, and Isaac finds himself blushing at this new side of Jackson. It’s disconcerting and he wants the asshole back, the asshole he can handle. “Are you going to clean me as well?”  
  
In response, Isaac throws a damp washcloth at his face.  
  
When they’re both clean and Jackson is still lounging against his pillow, Isaac has no choice but to  proceed to bed. Carefully avoiding touching Jackson, he lays down on the right side. Without asking, Jackson turns down the lantern.  
  
This is very awkward.  
  
Very uncomfortable, and  Jackson is taking up more than his share of the bed.  
  
“You’re going to fall off.”  
  
“Because you’re stealing all the space!”  
  
“Then c’mere.” Without asking, Jackson pulls him by the arm and onto his chest. His chin lands on Jackson’s chest in a jarring manner and his arm is twisted uncomfortably. “Well.”  
  
Isaac resists the urge to squirm, “Well.”  
  
“This is unpleasant.”  
  
It is, and as much as he dislikes sleeping with another person, he still wants Jackson to stay. The world has been turned on it’s head.  
  
“Everything is unpleasant the first go around.” Jackson adds, turns a bit to the left. He moves his arm out from under Isaac’s head, “Much better, I believe I can actually sleep this way.”  
  
“Good night.” Isaac says because he doesn’t now what else to say.  
  
“Have my breakfast ready by the time I wake, I prefer eggs, toast and jam  in the mornings. ”  
  
“You pompous, asshole--”  
  
“It was jest.” Jackson laughs, and the sound reverberates beneath his ear. “The crane should learn to receive words as such.”  
  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Never stay the night.  
  
That has been his mantra. The last thing Jackson wanted was to be caught coming from the docks, word would spread and people would talk. As such, the only person he’s ever been with like this was Derek, and even then, there was no true intimacy. It had been nothing like this.  
  
Next to him, Jackson can feel the heat coming off of Isaac’s body.  In truth he’d planned on sneaking out as soon as Isaac fell asleep but the expectation of him doing just so has driven him to the predicament he’s currently in now. The bed is far too lumpy for sleep, even in war he’d had goose down and when that wasn’t available he’d shift and have a bed of soft pine.  
  
Jackson’s not spoiled, not by half, but he’s accustomed to a certain standard of living. The Hale castle is woefully lacking.  Isaac’s chambers even more so.  
  
Isaac snuffles, turns over in his sleep to tuck his head beneath Jackson’s chin and all thoughts of fleeing leave him. Slowly, Jackson eases away, watches Isaac’s breaths . In the moonlight he can make out his profile, his cheeks and straight nose, the faint freckles across the bridge.  He wants to kiss Isaac and hold him close, sleep in his lumpy bed, if that’s what he desires.  
  
These emotions are foreign and completely horrifying.  
  
The only time he’s ever felt close to this was with  Derek. It’s hard to admit that even now, he’d been a child infatuated if anything. That’s why he’d resisted Stiles’ declarations of love, he’d thought his brother was the same.  
  
Slowly, Jackson brings a hand to Isaac’s cheek, brushes his finger tips over his chin and cheekbones. There are few things that hold his attention, even fewer people. He’s never thought of love…is horrified that the word comes to mind now, but it’s the closest thing he can think of.  He likes being near Isaac, enjoys his wit and sharp tone. None else have dared to speak to him the way Isaac does, and he cuts him down to size with a humor that soothes all offense.  
  
There’s a bruise on Isaac’s neck, just above his collar bone and Jackson remember sucking hungrily at the smooth skin there, wanting to bite him and claim him for always. He’d go mad if Isaac was with someone else like this, with Adam like this.  
  
When Jackson’s index finger touches the soft curve of Isaac’s lips, the other man shifts in his sleep. He freezes, realizing just how strange his behavior would seem if he were to be caught.  
  
“Stop.” Isaac murmurs sleepily, hand batting his fingers away. “M’tired.’  
  
Embarrassment making him clumsy, Jackson moves away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I am a student and I had to pick up a job to support myself, and it has not been easy to find time to sleep, let alone write, bear with me.
> 
>  
> 
> Point out obvious mistakes, and be kind, thank you!!

***Isaac***  
  
Love is a silly notion; worse still when coupled with delusion.  
  
Fancying himself in love with a Lord would cast doubt on his very sanity, and yet, Isaac can not ignore the way his breath catches within his chest when Jackson looks his way, nor can he deny the immense sense of victory he feels whenever he is able to coax a smile, even greater still when he is able to draw out words of substance.  
  
As much as Jackson is inclined to boast and hold audience, in private he is a man of few words where words matter. Albeit slowly, for the past couple of weeks, Jackson has begun sharing more and more of himself.  Now, Isaac knows all about the familial estate within the capitol in which he played hide and seek as a child, he’s heard tales of legendary fist fights and tussles, laughter and games among the Stilinski boys.  
  
Sweeter still, one night as they lay in his bed, Jackson has told him of the wintry night his father brought Stiles and his mother into their lives against all societal notions. He’s told him of a chubby pup whose brown eyes entranced him upon first glance, tethered his heart upon first smile.  
  
That is what draws Isaac the most. There is a devotion within Jackson that borders on self sacrifice. As much as he teases and bullies Stiles, he does so from a place of love-- not like the stubborn man would admit such.  
  
These nights have taught Isaac many things, that he cares for Jackson, more so when they speak than when they are physically entwined. He has learned that he no longer prefers the solitude that was once his grace but craves the tender arrogance and humor that his peacock brings.  
  
Love, if that is what this truly is, has transformed his life. Chores within the castle, even those Isaac despised before, have become something he no longer resents. Mostly because every so often, Jackson will seek him out when he is alone, pull him forward into a secluded alcove or closet and kiss him senseless. His lips tingle at the memory of just that morning.  
  
Claire huffs next to him although she’s not doing any of the work. She’s been on his heels all day, following him and Adam as they went about their daily tasks. “It’s so bloody cold!”  
  
“A lady doesn’t swear.” Isaac reminds her and Adam laughs, shaking snowflakes from his dark hair. Knowing the cause for his laughter, Isaac adds. “She imagines she will be such.”  
  
Claire casts him a sly glance, just before she sticks out her tongue. “Perhaps _you_ shall become a lady of the manor before I.”  
  
“I am a man.”  
  
“But you stand Omega, you can rule a household.” Her teasing turns serious.  “I know the Castle of Wisteria is one of the loveliest in all of the city.”  
  
Aware of Adam’s sudden interest, Isaac hoists the last of the wood into the shed. “Claire shouldn’t you be helping your mother jar preserves?”  
  
“We completed the task yesterday.” Treacherous child she is, Claire continues to pester, spreading her blue shawl wide as she dance about him. “Of late your humor has improved beyond all recognition. There is a smile upon your lips even as winter deepens around us and the days stretch out grey and long.”  
  
It’s difficult but Isaac forces himself not to automatically rearrange his expression as if it is evidence of guilt.  “We’ve work to do, Claire and you’re being a bother.”  
  
Their need for fuel has greatly increased, more so due to the ovens that Jackson’s staff command to prepare the heartier meals. Jackson has his own live stabled for that very purpose. Despite his attitude, the man has impeccable tastes and is generous, sharing and sharing alike to all who are in need.  All are grateful for the constant supply of fresh meat and for Lisa’s superb preparations.  
  
“I do not mind her chatter.” Adam says as he stacks the carefully chopped wood in  the back sheds which connect to the kitchen.  Although they have become comrades, Isaac is aware of the glances Adam gives him. “What is this talk of Wisteria?”  
  
“It’s the title Jackson inherited from his mother--”  
  
“His grandfather left him the title and lands.” Isaac corrects, before he thinks better of it. “His mother had no say in the matter.”  
  
It’s exactly what Claire wanted and she looks smug, “Of course you would know the circumstances, more so than I.”  
  
Uncomfortable, Isaac averts his gaze. “It’s common knowledge.”  
  
“Well, the title is his, absent a few conditions.” Claire elaborates. “ The previous Baron was frugal but extremely wealthy, his fortune astounds, which is why all call Lord Stilinski, ‘the king’s purse’. As soon as he mates, The Baron will be one of the richest men in the kingdom, even more so than the Viscount Boyle. “  
  
Adam looks at him, gaze curious. “You could do worse.”  
  
“I have done nothing at all.” Eager to escape their persistent questions,  Isaac returns to the main hall, hanging his cloak close to the fire so that it would dry quickly. Footsteps sound behind him and Isaac’s head throbs, “Claire--”  
  
“Just tell me this one thing, is there a specific reason for your good humor?”  
  
“Claire.”  
  
“You can not blame her,” Adam stomps the snow off his boots and he appears to share Isaac’s discomfort. “Servants talk amongst themselves.”  
  
Shame floods him pushing bright color to Isaac‘s cheeks. Jackson had left his bed well past dawn that morning, and the idiot hadn’t been particularly quiet about it either, grousing about cheese and bread loudly as he stomped down the hall.  
  
“I…” There’s nothing Isaac can think of to say. “We were merely--”  
  
“We have no need for your explanations,” Adam stops him even though Claire looks like she wants to protest. “In fact, propriety be damned, we are not meant to be abstinent creatures, there is no harm in exploration.”  
  
“Not all think as you do.”  
  
“All are entitled to flashy romance; something to reminisce over when you grow old.” Adam‘s smile is cool, eyes a shade unkind. “Because when spring comes, Jackson departs.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
When Stiles was a child, still young enough to be carried about by the scruff of his neck, the Stilinski’s would often return to his mother’s native lands further South to the lake, often before the full moon.  When he could escape from beneath  his father’s and nursemaids watchful eyes, Stiles would follow after his brothers like the little puppy he was, all doe eyes and downy tuffs of hair that stood straight upon the crown of his head.  
  
The brothers would quickly grow weary of the pup’s yips and tumbles, and it was Derek who was tasked with looking after him, keeping him from running too far off path or wading into the deeper waters.    
  
The modest country home houses many of Derek’s fondest memories. It was there he first gained purpose, surety in his own abilities. His uncle’s affections were sparsely given, believed to strengthen him,  and Derek does not  doubt that he meant well, but it had been a lonely existence in his early years. In  Stiles’ clear admiration, he’d felt useful, as if he’d found his place; no simple feat.  
  
Memories of those times provide stark contrast to Derek’s current reality. Tonight, sleep has alluded him once more, the pain from his injury causing him to seek his outer chambers. Not more than a few moments alone and the door had opened, Stiles walking in with his linen strips and rueful smile.  
  
Derek looks down on him, watches the firelight cast light and shadows over his hair. It should be humiliating to be attended to but he finds instead it‘s humbling. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”  
  
“I want to.” Stiles replies brightly. He moves back near the fire, pot going above the flames. “And, the heat eases your discomfort.”  
  
“I cannot argue with that.”  Derek looks at his bare leg. The scar tissue will never ease to be foreign and revolting. He presses a hand over the beginning of the scar, remembers the tear of the bullet through his flesh, the exploding pieces ripping through. “A Were that carries scars such as mine, is truly a thing to behold.”  
  
“I do not mind them.” Stiles kneels down next to him, hand cupping Derek’s calf to lift it unto the green velvet foot stool. Surprising him, Stiles turns his head to brush his lips over a rigid line. His breath his warm, lips cool. “They are proof of your existence and survival.”  
  
“Survival?” Familiar bitterness makes him short. “I brought the Argents upon us. Kate knew our location that day because of words I‘d foolishly spoken in her presence, things I‘d left unattended. There were many who should have lived in my stead.”  
  
It’s the first time Derek’s spoken of her--said her name aloud-- and he finds her image being brought to life by each thought. The soft curl of her hair and the hard glint of her eyes. The way her mouth smiled so sweetly even as she plotted his death.  
  
Folly had been his guide, had he not been so besotted he would’ve seen the truth. Even after the first scrimmage, when he wondered how the humans knew of their plans, he’d never doubted her. What does that say of his own character?  
  
“You’re here, with me,” Stiles’ voice brings him back to the present, “And I can not find it within myself to wish for another alternative.”  
  
That look is back again, the quiet patience and gentle devotion that surfaces after they mate, the one Kate herself had slipped on so deviously. It leaves him unsettled.  
  
When the first hot strip is laid across his thigh, pulled tight by Stiles’ capable hands to chase away the ache of the day, Derek hisses. The relief is almost instantaneous, the feel of Stiles’ fingers and sporadic humming lulling him into a trance.    
  
“What was she like?”  
  
Derek’s eyes flutter open, “Who?”  
  
Stiles doesn’t look up, continues methodically. “Kate.”  
  
It’s a question Derek is completely unprepared to answer.  
  
“She was…” Kate was many things. In the beginning she was entrancing, kind, generous, amusing and intelligent. She was fire, cruel and fierce, burning away all he loved to ash with a hate he had been blind to even as she lay beneath him in his bed. She was a thief who robbed him of all respect and position, cast doubt upon his character and caused ever growing whisper behind his back.  “She was Kate.”  
  
“That’s not an answer.”  
  
True, the response is lacking and yet it’s all he can give.  
  
He can never give voice to the way she pressed a kiss right above his heart. The sound of her laugh as she dove into the waters of his land. The shyness and hope as she spoke of having his children. No deception has ever driven so deeply.  
  
These thoughts belong to him alone, and even if they did not, he would never speak them aloud. Stiles is one of the few who still look at him with admiration. It’s not something he can fathom losing.  
  
“Did you… did you love her?”  
  
It‘s clear in the timbre of his voice, the hunch of his shoulders just how much any answer will effect him and Derek is tired of being the one to leave that wounded expression on his face.  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
Stiles frowns, “It’s just a question.”  
  
“I…I  thought I did.” Derek looks into the yellow and orange dancing flames, thinks of long ago as his fingers curl over the glass of brandy beside him. “I never knew her, I saw only the pieces of herself she chose to display, or fabricate.  There is nothing that I hold certain when I think of her, above all she was skilled in deception; a liar and unknown. You cannot love someone who is a stranger.”  
  
“How did you meet her? It‘s rare instance to accept humans within the capital walls, more so in the country.”  
  
Derek pauses. “Have you been listening to gossip?”  
  
“I‘m curious.”  Stiles sounds vulnerable, more so than he has since before they were mated. “I often am in regard of her.”  
  
“I met her within the Northern caverns,” Derek takes a long drink, feels the spirits burn his throat. He curses his inability to be delirious with drink. Unconsciousness would be an escape. “The largest one, my father called it Cavern Aerius, it is one of the few that remain private to our people.  There’s a stream that runs beneath it, water fresh and clear to drink. But the wonder is in the current, the waters defy all logic and flow upstream. Many deem it magic, or enchantment. I entered one day and she was just… there, barefoot in the shallows, skirts hiked up around her ankles as she searched.  Aside from the few employed in the capital, I had never seen a human. And she…she was.”  
  
The bindings complete, Stiles looks up at him, eyes dark as nearly black as the caves were that day. “What did she seek?”  
  
“Six round, perfect stones.” Derek closes his eyes, inhales deep and he can scent the salt and brine, cold earth and pressed wildflowers. “She had been told of a legend by a priestess, one that said skipping six across the way would grant her a wish. Her parents had passed a fortnight before, she wanted to wish them back into existence.”  
  
“She believed in such things? You did not find it foolish?”  
  
“Yes.”  The dark arts are just stories, Derek has always known that. “But it was her faith and loss that bound me.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
The damp chill penetrates through Jackson’s thick fur as he watches Isaac maneuver over rock and crags.  Before his snout, his breath puffs in clouds of white, evidence of the sheer madness that would drive a Were out within the closing depths of winter.  
  
As doubtful as Jackson is about Isaac’s plans, he could watch him all morning. His Were form is breath catching, fur a delicate grey, nearly silver when the sun catches is at just the right angle. His underbelly is the purest white, reflecting the snow. He makes a stunning silhouette against the drab of dirt and stone.  
  
Upon reaching the highest ridge, Isaac looks behind him and below, ears twitching in annoyance when his eyes land on Jackson still at the foot of the rocks.  
  
The question is clear in his amber, tilted eyes  
  
I’d rather not lose my life this morning. Jackson responds without words.  He knows Isaac can hear him in this form even when he doesn’t speak. In a way it’s easier, much more honest.  
  
 _You were meant to follow me._  
  
Glancing up, Jackson shakes his head.  _Not if you want me to survive._  
  
The exasperation is evident as Isaac bounds down even faster than he ascended. Jackson holds his breath until his paws hit the dirt in front of him, the daredevil stop his heart on a daily basis. The more Isaac shows him his land, the more Jackson wonders how he even survived to maturity.  The North is a treacherous placed, filled with sinkholes, mountain and unforgiving stone.  
  
 _Coward_. Isaac lowers his head and bumps it against Jackson’s snout. _Get in front of me, even a pup can make this journey._  
  
It should be unsettling to know how well Isaac can turn his thoughts. The comment is enough to make him push aside his reservations and climb the mountain determinedly. To his credit, he only slips once, paws losing traction on a pile of slick leaves, covering the surface of rock. When he does, Isaac is right behind him to hold him steady.  
  
Eventually the slope levels and a clearing comes into view. There’s another large cavern, rocks smooth and covered in soft green moss. The blanched grass at it’s opening is flattened to the earth, a sign of inhabitance.  
  
 _Who lives here?_ Nosing along the entry, Jackson stops at the familiar scent.  _You_?  
  
 _I live in the castle, imbecile._  
  
Jackson nips his side and gets a growl for his trouble.  _Again with the sweet words._  
  
 _The manor can be stifling at times. It’s somewhere I like to go, to get away. Here, with nature my thoughts are clear._  
  
 They spend the rest of the afternoon like pups, chasing after one another and scaring the small woodland creatures. Jackson can not recall ever being so uninhibited, even as a child he’d always been aware of the eyes of others. His grandfather had favored him as his heir, made his intentions and presence known. Propriety was something he never had the privilege to forget.  
  
When they grow hungry, Jackson watches amazed as Isaac fishes with only his jaws to serve as lure and line. He catches five large fish, shifts and then cleans them quickly with a knife hidden beneath stone, placing them over hot stones to cook in fire.  
  
The fish is surprisingly flaky and tender; delicious.  
  
“You are truly wild.” Jackson cannot divert his eyes from the paleness of Isaac’s bare skin. They’d both remained naked after shifting, Jackson following Isaac’s lead and cloaking himself with only his cape.  
  
“Wild?” Isaac shrugs, dark cloak slipping down to bare his shoulder, “It’s survival.”  
  
“It’s impressive; I don’t believe Weres within the capitol know how to even survive one night outside of civilization; myself included. Without sword or firearm, I‘d soon perish.”  
  
“Then you’re fortunate to have me to take care of your delicate body.”  
  
Catching Isaac’s eyes, Jackson leans in close, brushes his lips over his teasingly. “I am.”  
  
Laughter making his eyes bright, Isaac rubs his nose over Jackson’s. “My soft, city man.”  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  Jackson growls without heat, “I am neither soft nor delicate.”  
  
Isaac kisses him again, this time the teasing is gone; lips purposeful and impassioned. “I know.”  
  
Upon the completion of the meal, Isaac moves away from his side, gets to his feet. Neither move when his coat falls to the ground leaving him completely nude. An enchanting blush is starting at his throat, spreading down his lithe chest and flat belly.  
  
“You are completely bare to my gaze.”  
  
“I’m not ashamed.”  
  
“And I am _dually_ impressed.” Jackson steps forward, allows his own covering to fall. “Well?”  
  
A raise of the brow, “Is this your best seduction?”  
  
“I do not seek to seduce,” Jackson steps close, feels the full body shudder that courses through Isaac, inhales the sweet rush of pheromones that come with it. “Not when you desire me as much as I crave you.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
This is madness, what men kill and go to war for. The tenuous yet unbreakable binds of lust and love, tethering his soul to the man who moves above him, looks upon him with eyes of blue flame and kisses promises onto his skin.  
  
The scent  of  his own excitement reach Isaac and it’s embarrassing and erotic  and incredible when Jackson falls to his knees, licks between his legs to catch his slick on his tongue like a starving man.  
  
All reservation have fled, they’ve been naked for hours, Jackson bringing him to orgasm twice with his hands and mouth before he focuses on his entrance, laves it with his tongue, sucks and nips until Isaac forgets all decorum and begs.  
  
 There’s an emptiness inside of him, an ache he instinctively knows only Jackson can fill. His virginity is meant to be gifted to his mate, his body shared with his alpha alone,  and Isaac intends to do just that. The reasons that gave him pause just days ago melt away to nothing.  
   
“If you don’t get in me now…” Isaac doesn’t finish the thought, bites down on his sore lip to stifle a moan as Jackson’s talented fingers graze over that spot deep inside of him that makes stars explode behind his close eyes. Isaac had expected to be more embarrassed his first time but it feels incredibly natural, not a hint of shame.  
  
“If I don’t get in you, what?” Jackson mocks softly, hair messy around his face, mussed by Isaac’s own fingers.  “Your demands continue to grow.”  
  
“Bastard.” Isaac groans, turning his face to bite down unto his shoulder, “ …Please.”  
  
At the plea Jackson gives a strained smile and moves over him, pushing between his thighs. Isaac whimpers, drawing his legs up, pushing his knees further against his chest to give Jackson more room for what he wants.  
  
“Are you…” The question stutters. “Is this what you want?”  
  
That he would even ask makes Isaac smile, “If I didn’t want to be with you, you’d never be able to get me on my back.”  
  
“Clever.”  
  
“I always am.” He can feel Jackson’s cock against his entrance, his body tightens instinctively, legs seeking to press together and deny. “ But do not worry, in this, I am sure.”  
  
“Look at me.” Jackson commands gruffly, hands sliding through the sheen of sweat on Isaac’s hot skin. Isaac obeys, jerking at the bright heat in Jackson’s eyes, the naked hunger in their depths. It’s almost enough to have him coming, the fact that Jackson wants him so much. “You are mine.” His hips move forward and Isaac feels the flared head of his cock pushing against his entrance. “Forever.”  
  
“Yours.” Isaac replies. “Always.”  
  
Jackson’s eyes flash at the words. He leans forward and captures Isaac’s mouth in a brutal kiss, tongue penetrating his mouth, mimicking his cock.

  
Unable to hold back his cry, Isaac tears his mouth free from the kiss, gasps as he is impaled. His body’s natural instinct is to yield, allow his alpha within but there is still pain. Isaac lets out a pitiful whimper and Jackson kisses him gently, whispers words that he can’t understand to calm him. The burn is quickly fading to intense pleasure as they become one. All the while Jackson’s pressing kisses against his face, murmuring soft words of encouragement and praise until he’s fully seated within Isaac, balls pressed up against his ass.  
  
“You’re doing so good, you feel so good.” Jackson groans. He’s shaking with the effort it's taking to keep still. “I can’t wait to make you scream and come off my cock .”  
  
The words make Isaac squirm, and he stiffens feeling his walls contract around Jackson’s thick length.  
  
“Just like that, squeeze me just like that.” Jackson slurs thickly, one hand moving to grip Isaac’s hip, “I need…” There’s a desperate quality to his voice. “Tell me I can move, knot you?”  
  
Unsure but loving the sensation of Jackson inside of him, Isaac nods, “…yes.”  
  
The first slow drag out makes him moan, he can feel every inch of Jackson, the sharp thrust back in makes him howl as Jackson hits that spot inside of him that he‘s only ever heard gossiped about when older omegas are besotted with  drink. When he feels the sharp bite of Jackson’s teeth against his neck as he sets a slow, deep pace, it's too much and  not enough all at the same time. He’s clawing at Jackson’s broad back, begging for more; harder, faster, deeper. And Jackson gives him exactly what he needs. it’s the most intense feeling of his life when Jackson presses in and rotates his hips.  
  
There’s still some pain but it’s buried so far beneath the pleasure that Isaac’s barely aware of it. All too soon he feels himself plummeting into orgasm.    
  
 “I’m-” The rest of Isaac’s words are bitten off in a long moan as he comes between them, untouched. His orgasm is so intense Isaac early blacks out and when his vision filters back into view he’s aware of two things immediately; Jackson still hard inside of him and Jackson staring down at him like he wants to devour his very soul.  
  
“I didn’t even have to touch you.” Jackson mutters as his hips begin moving once more, “You want me that much?”  
  
Isaac can’t respond even if he could find the words, he’s on overload. Every nerve within him is tingling and Jackson’s pushing in and out of his body, showing no signs of tiring. All he can do is submit, whimper as Jackson takes him hard and deep, positions him to take every inch of his thick cock. By the time Jackson’s orgasm builds Isaac’s hard once again.  
  
“That’s it.” Jackson wraps a hand around Isaac’s dick, squeezing as he speeds up his thrusts. His rhythm is completely lost as he pants filthy praise into Isaac’s ears.  
  
Isaac reaches climax and Jackson follows closely after, flooding his channel with slick, warm come. The feel of Jackson’s knot pushing inside of him is overwhelming, He can feel every jerk, every spurt his cock gives inside of him and he shivers at the sensation of being filled, claimed and marked in such a primitive way.  
  
Jackson’s lips are at his throat, kissing over his collarbone and pulse. A hollow note strikes and  Isaac feels cold. Their bodies have mated but he longs for the deeper bond, the mating bite that would give claim.  
  
“I should’ve been more careful.” Jackson says when he is able to pull out and Isaac flinches, giving a low hiss. “More gentle.”  
  
Isaac slowly eases his legs down. He can feel come trickling down his thigh. Jackson retrieves his silk handkerchief from his coat and to Isaac’s embarrassment eases his thighs apart to clean away his seed gently.  
  
Isaac blushes. “I can do that myself.”  
  
“I want to.” The soothing drag of the cloth is now giving an entirely different kind of comfort, and Isaac squirms feeling his cock harden once more. “You should see yourself.  You’re still open, pink and used from taking me.”  
  
“Jackson.” Isaac’s voice comes out a whine as he pushes his ass back, “Don’t tease.”  
  
“I’m not teasing.” Tossing the washcloth aside, Jackson slides his hands up Isaac’s thighs, eases him unto his back. “You’re so gorgeous.” Jackson whispers before he moves Isaac’s ankles apart to blow gently over Isaac’s entrance. “Beautiful.”  
  
Isaac goes stiff, closes his eyes. “ Jackson, seriously, I do not think I can do all of…that, again.”  
  
Jackson laughs lowly, tongue tracing over his erect cock, “ I think you can.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
It’s not often that the group joins Stiles in the main hall for dinner. Despite all they’ve done for him, Derek is standoffish in their company. He finds them brutish and unrefined; Erica yelling cocksucker and twat every instance certainly doesn’t help her case.  
  
Still, despite her coarse words, Erica is highly entertaining. Her life fascinates him, she has plenty of tales to stave off the boredom that threatens to drown him. Winter is proving to be the winter he’s heard about reads in the North; the cold is nearly unbearable.  
  
 “Stay awhile.” Stiles encourages, scooping up Cloud before she can run after the men and escape through the door after them. Even his puppy “We have plenty of warm mead.”  
  
“I don’t think your alpha will welcome my company.” Erica inclines her head, “You know, I think he believes I’m sniffin’ around you.”  
  
Stiles laughs, “Well, you’re not.”  
  
“Oh but I am.” Erica declares completely unrepentant. At his shock she shrugs,  “What? I have needs.”  
  
“I’ve never seen one such as you.”  
  
“Oh really?” Erica preens, arching her back as she leers and her men laugh, Adam the loudest. “You find me attractive, kitten?”  
  
“I meant, a female Alpha.”  
  
“We are few, and superior.”  
  
“Rare indeed and yet most appreciated,” Derek adds coming into the hall, surprising them all. He has a dusting of snow on his black cloak and Stiles has to fight the urge to jump in his arms. “I’ve neglected to offer my sincerest gratitude for providing safe transport of  my mate through the treacherous forest. ”  
  
“Much delayed,” Erica says but at Stiles sharp looks changed course. “Yet well received.”  
  
Stiles sets a hand on Derek‘s forearm as he reaches for wine, “I thought you were to spend the night at the Western Post?”  
  
“I changed my mind,” Derek turns and much to Stiles’ bewilderment, kisses him in plain view of the others. “And I find you steeped in raucous company.”  
  
“There’s a small matter of the promised coin,” Erica grabs her cloak, wraps it about her. “And then I will be on my way, leave you newly mates to it.”  
  
Stiles could hit her, they’ve spoken of the reward and he’s instructed she wait until he could access the wealth his father had sent. This is just like Erica, to foster discord for her amusement.  
  
“I was--”  
  
“I will see to the reward.” Derek cuts him off before he can respond. “But stay awhile, at least or this night. Stiles speaks of your prowess on the battlefield and in chess.”  
  
Eyes amused, Erica regards him. “You think yourself a worthy opponent?”  
  
“I think to put the past aside.” Derek says and Stiles grins, he had never expected such words to pass his lips. “And forge future friendship.”  
  
“And why would you do that?”  
  
“Because,” Derek pulls Stiles near and warmth fills him. “It is what my mate requires.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
Dusk is casting the cavern in soft rays of yellow light when they finally settle down to sleep. The fire keeps away most of the chill, and what escapes is held at bay by Jackson’s fur lined cloak which is acting as a blanket, Isaac’s as their bed. He’s aware of every aching muscle in his body but he’s never felt better. He’s here, with Jackson. This is where he belongs, this is who he belongs with.  
  
“My own.” Jackson tightens his arms around him, moving closer to his back. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”  
  
Isaac lifts the hands sliding down past his navel and moves them up to his chest. “I belong to myself.”  
  
“I propose a fair exchange then, I am yours in return.”  
  
“Perhaps it is more than your seed that has seeped out of you but your brain as well.” Isaac looks down at their entwined hands, “What would I do with a peacock?”  
  
“It is not nonsense but the truth.”  
  
Jackson’s knot presses up inside of him, keeping his seed buried deep inside of him. It serves as a reminder of how tenuous this all is. How much rationality lost in the heat of sex and exchange of words; such promises hold no weight.  
  
It’s on the tip of Isaac’s tongue to say I love you but he can not. Instead, he closes his eyes and welcomes the pull of sleep. Jackson’s right. He belongs to him now, will always be his even when Jackson has long forgotten him.  
  
And that’s when he hears it, spoken quietly into his skin.  
  
“My crane.”  
  
 ***Derek***

  
There’s something intoxicating about the scent of his mate, it leaves him weak even as he is strengthened, and draws him ever near.  Winter is usually a time of boredom but it is now anything but. He’s occupied his evenings with  speech and games, Stiles a welcomed companion.  
  
“Your arms are like _snares_.”  
  
Derek grunts, “Do not pretend to detest being held.”  
  
Stiles grins, turning to return his kiss. “I am transparent.”  
  
“Not overly so,” Derek kisses his bare shoulder. “But I know you.”  Stiles yawns and Derek pokes him in the side, even beneath the heavy blankets the cold is creeping in as the fire dies. “See to the fire.”  
  
“It’s _your_ turn.” Stiles grumbles. “I went last time.”  
  
“You’re the one who wanted to stay abed all day.”  
  
“You enjoyed it as much as I.” Ever the minx, Stiles wriggles back against him, ass rubbing over his half hard cock.  “I can tell.”  
  
Rolling over on top of him,  Derek kisses his cheek and then his lips. “It’s still your turn.”  
  
Grinning, Stiles pulls him back down, mouth opening beneath his to welcome his tongue. Their relationship is surprising, their mating incredible. Stiles has proven far more shrewd, understanding and mature than he thought possible. 

Stiles pulls back, lips tracing his tongue.  “Derek?”  
  
“Hm- _what_!” Derek’s words end on a yelp as he crashes to the ground, propelled there by Stiles’ hard push.  “Stiles!”  
  
"I's settled then." Peering over from the side of the bed, his mate grins down at him, blankets wrapped securely. “It’s your turn to tend the fire.”  
  
Grumbling, Derek rises to his feet and heads for the fire. He stokes the flames back to their great warmth and adds much needed wood. “I could’ve severely been injured.”  
  
“I doubt it, it would take much more to bring down the great warrior of the North.”  
  
The words serve unpleasant reminder but Derek pushes the thoughts away. He has spent far too much time dwelling on the past, Stiles deserves level ground. The ride to the Western post served greater purpose in that regard.  
  
Retrieving the gift from his trunk, Derek crawls back beneath the covers and drops the small box into Stiles’ hands.  
  
“And what is this?” Stiles runs a finger over the plain brown wrapping paper, finger nails picking over the twine. “Chocolates?”  
  
“Do you think of nothing but sweets?”  
  
“Of course,” Stiles beams, “I think of you.”  
  
“Alright, get to it then.” Derek nudges him so Stiles doesn’t see just how pleased he is. “You’ll like this, or you should‘ just open it.”  
  
Stiles tears off the paper, smile frozen on his face when he looks at the title. “Der Schweizerische Robinson?”  
  
At his faulty pronunciation, Derek laughs. “Newly published.”  
  
“I don’t read German.”  
  
“You can learn.”  
  
“You’re horrid--”  
  
“It’s only jest,” Derek replaces the German version with the one he had translated. “English for my puppy.”  
  
Stiles stills, looks back over his shoulder at him.  
  
Derek meets his gaze, “What?”  
  
“You called me puppy.”  
  
“A thing I did many times in the past.”  
  
“I know, it just…feels different now.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
There isn’t much that escapes his attention. But for once Derek curses his powers of observation when he watches Jackson’s hand land atop of Isaac’s briefly when he sets down yeast rolls. The touch is quick enough that Derek thinks he imagined it but then Isaac’s cheeks go shade darker and Derek know he has not.  
  
Anger grips him but Derek is forced to hold his tongue until the meal is over. His irritation reaches new heights when Jackson’s eyes stay continuously glued to Isaac backside all night.  
  
Before the bastard can escape into the night, Derek catches his elbow. “A word in my study, Jackson?”  
  
Looking down at his hand as if it’s something dirty, Jackson sniffs in distaste and shakes him off. “I am otherwise occupied.”  
  
“I really must insist.” Once  they reach the halls near his study, Derek allows his polite smile to fade into a snarl. “If you value your life, you will cease whatever dalliance you’ve began with Isaac immediately.”  
  
Jackson looks startled for a moment before he composes himself, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.”  
  
“I mean it, Jackson.”  
  
“We enjoy one another’s company!”  
  
“I’m not daft, the entire staff knows you two are fucking.”  
  
Jackson‘s shoulders stiffen, lips flattening out into an angry line. “Do not speak so coarsely.”  
  
“You are concerned of my speech?” Derek wants to laugh at the indignation, the world has gone mad. “I won’t let you ruin him.”  
  
“You’re one to talk--”  
  
“I will not let you, Jackson. Had I trespassed as you have with Stiles or Taylor you would be out for my head, demanding satisfaction and yet you do the same to Isaac as if he matters naught.”  
  
“You didn’t seem to have a problem with sneaking into my chambers at that age, did you? Who was ruining who then Lord Derek?”  
  
Derek’s stunned.  
  
They’ve never addressed it so openly, and with good reason.  
  
Whatever folly had been between them had burned bright and fast in their youth  before  fading into the cold ashes of hate.  
  
Jackson smiles coldly, “Who’s the hypocrite now? Where was this honorable spirit when we would do--”  
  
“Lower your fucking voice!” Derek hisses, looking about them, confirming that they are well and truly alone. “You bloody imbecile, Stiles could’ve heard, anyone could‘ve happened by!”  
  
“Let them hear.” With a scoff, Jackson tosses his head, “It was the worst kept secret in history.”  
  
Within the walls of the capital , yes, but they no longer reside there. This is his home, the one he is trying to build with his mate and his riddled past grants him no favor to tell his mate of his affairs with his brother.  
  
“Stiles doesn’t know,” Derek looks him in the eye, “ “And I do not wish for him to ever gain knowledge.”  
  
“And you think I’m proud of anything that transpired between us? Thank God I came to my senses before we actually fucked--”  
  
“For god’s sake, Jackson, shut up!”  
  
Lips pressing into a thin line, Jackson steps back. “Rest assured, no one will find out from me.”  
  
“I still want you to leave Isaac alone.”  
  
“Again, that is none of your concern.”  
  
“It is my concern. Isaac, for all his bravado is only seventeen. He’s already been through enough, you leading him about will only add unnecessary pain.”  
  
Jackson has the gall to look offended. “And who says I’m leading him about?”  
  
“I know you, Jackson, you care too much about what others think to mate with someone of his class. In fact, last I heard, you were all but engaged to Lady Sophia, there have been no tales of that tie severing.”  
  
“Lady Sophia is _twelve_! She won’t come of age for years.”  
  
“But eventually she will, and then where will that leave him? Some fun on the side? Your glorified mistress?” Derek sighs, frustration building in the face of Jackson’s deliberate evading.  “ He cares for you Jackson, God knows why but he does, I can see it in the way he looks at you. Leave my castle , leave  him now before the damage is irreparable.”  
  
 ***Bella***  
  
Taking care not to make  a sound, Bella retreats back towards the interior staircase, head swimming with what she’s just heard transpire between the Duke and the Baron of Wisteria.  
  
It’s no secret that Isaac holds the Baron’s interest, and Bella has not forgotten the pup’s slight to her on the day of the harvest festival. Isaac’s sharp tongue had earned her a sound slap from her alpha, an injury she would not soon forget.  
  
Bella smiles as she reaches her chambers, it will be good to see Isaac receive some well earned humility.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, after such delay and writing in snatches I found a solid three hours to finish this up. I hope you all like :) And yes, you know I LOVE the angst and the tears and fights and confrontations lol
> 
> I love the interest you have all shown and showered on this story, it means so much to me:D As always, if you have any suggestions, let me know.
> 
> Point out all mistakes please, i rushed to post before work :)
> 
> Be kind, and have fun!

***Stiles***  
  
Even for winter it’s unearthly cold, harsh pine scented wind bowing the stiff branches of ice encrusted trees. Although Stiles would much rather be within the manor, snug and warm beneath his heavy winter blankets, or curled up in his wolf form in front of a roaring fire,  he’s happy to be spending time with Derek. It’s not often that the Alpha can abandon his duties for a full afternoon, even in the dead of winter.  
  
Too busy taking in the outline of the mountains, Stiles’ slips on a patch of ice but before he can fall into a drift Derek catching his elbow, holds him upright.  
  
“Clumsy.” Derek chides with a smile. “Watch where you’re going, puppy.”  
  
Stiles growls petulantly at the beloved yet hated moniker that has recently resurfaced. “I am not clumsy, and how much longer until we reach wherever we go?”  
  
“Don’t worry, it’s only a little further.”  
  
Derek’s hand doesn’t leave his and Stiles smiles even with a  runny nose and stinging cheeks. They’ve slipped into something like friendship this past. With winter’s arrival, snow had come and the cold had driven all in doors. The days are passed inside the castle walls, and every day Stiles discovers something else he loves about Derek. Derek has a sharp sense of humor, much more acerbic than Stiles’ who laughed whenever someone burped or tripped on their skirts. They also had many things in common, although Derek detested the French literature Stiles favored, his books of adventure and the seas were enthralling. They spent hours talking and building their own stories, Derek surprisingly knowledgeable about Pirates and  the new found lands across the great ocean.  
  
“Here we are.” Derek announces grandly and Stiles schools his expression.  
  
There’s nothing here, the land is flat and the overlook jagged. There are a few vines strapping across the earth, brown lengths pocking up through the snow. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“Look around.”  
  
Stiles frowns, “This is it?”  
  
“Wait one moment.” Derek grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, before he bends down and pushes a large rock a few feet to the left. “I blocked the entry after Kate.”  
  
“Then this is --?”  
  
“Aerius.“ Derek finishes. “I wanted you to see it for yourself.” He ducks his head to step inside, gloved hands brushing away the ice and snow against grey rock, “The magic of it.”  
  
Hesitating, Stiles touches the crumbled earth, sifting the dirt in his palm dubiously. “Are you positive this won’t come down around me and kill me? Maybe then the magic could resurrect me.”  
  
“Clever,” Derek snickers. “You’ll be fine; it’s safe.” He steps further inside, shadows masking his expression completely, and Stiles has no choice but to follow. “This is it.”  
  
Once Stiles is within Derek strike flint  and lights a torch and his breath is taken away.  It ‘s truly a sight to behold and once The cavern walls are sleet, glue grey and ever changing pearl. The ceiling stretching high into a black abyss.  
  
“It’s…”  
  
The sound of rushing water reaches his ears, and Stiles’ eyes widen in awe at the colorful stones and clear, ice blue water several steps down.  
  
“Derek, it’s--”  
  
“Beautiful?”  
  
“ _Magical_.” Stiles kneels down to look at the silvery fish swimming in the pool beneath. He‘s not sure how they survive how the waters have not frozen like the lakes and creaks on the property. “It’s magical.”  
  
“There’s no other place I’d rather be, more than the castle, this was my families home.” Derek’s fingers find his, and even cold they warm him. “I wanted you to see it …because she did.”  
  
Stiles isn‘t sure how to respond, “..thank you.”  
  
“We may not have had the best start Stiles, but I want to change that.”  
  
“I’m glad.” When Derek sits down on huge smooth rock, Stiles follows. “I’d hate to be trapped with a sulky alpha for entire winter.”  
  
“I do not sulk.”  
  
“You do,” Stiles laughs, squirming away when Derek tickles his side viciously. “But in the cutest way possible.”  
  
They wrestle a bit, but neither are really intent on gaining the upper hand.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here, Stiles.” Derek’s eyes reflect the colors of the cavern. “If I never said it, I am.”

  
When Derek kisses him Stiles keeps his eyes open, he wants to remember every moment.  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
This is getting to be a habit, and it should be alarming how comfortable Jackson is , how he’s starting to have trouble sleeping away  from Isaac. Feeling  rather sentimental, Jackson brushes a kiss to the nape of Isaac’s neck.  
  
“You’re heavy.” Isaac grumbles even though its been four seconds after they’ve both come. “Get off of me, now.”  
  
And there’s no way Jackson is moving, primarily because he hasn‘t the strength, and secondarily he likes the way they are, he can feel Isaac’s pulse, smell his unique scent of orange and pine.  
  
“None could ever accuse you of whispering sweet nothings.” Jackson says against Isaac’s shoulder. He wonders if he’s the only one who knows of the mole just above his hip. “Just moments ago you begged me never to go, to fuck you deeper--”  
  
“I wasn’t in my right mind.”  
  
Jackson smirks, “Because I cause you to lose all composure?”  
  
“You’re a master of turning phrase.” Isaac rolls back his hips, inner muscles squeezing his cock in the most delicious way.  “Yet you seem to be quite affected as well.”  
  
“Again” Jackson groans, hands fitting back over Isaac’s hips, fingers slotting over the bruises that are already rapidly disappearing. “I want you.”  
  
“Say _please_.”  
  
“Tease.” Laughing, Jackson pulls out repositions Isaac on his back before he slips right back in with a slow thrust. Isaac’s eyes slid half mast, and he moans, a  deep purr of contentment that Jackson catches on his lips.  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
The days stretch long before him, and in the midst of the heavy snow and  endless games of chess by firelight, Stiles begins to miss the bright lights of the capitol; the bustling crowds and open markets that are filled even in the winter. He loves the land but even beauty grows tedious.  
  
Usually, Derek is there to stave off his boredom, amusing them both with stories and card games he’s picked up in his travels and war. However, this morning they’d been woken by news of the southern village flooding and Derek had departed before first light. He’s off making repairs to the burst damn and Stiles is left to his own devices, which more often than not means a day spent chasing Cloud around the castle. Erica and Adam do not favor the castle, mostly because Derek glowers every time they come near.  
  
So when visitors are announced and the banners raised, Stiles is sure he’s hallucinating. None venture North during the winter, not even his own family,  especially not his friends.  
  
And yet here they are.  
  
Stiles blinks furiously, certain he’s dreaming.  
  
Lydia and Scott are standing in the parlor looking uncertain and weary from their travels. Their coats are muddied, and Stiles wonders at the state of Scott’s prized Arabians. They’d been pushed hard through climate they are unaccustomed to.  
  
“They arrived under the Kings flag.” Miles announces, and Stiles notices that the soldiers are subtly blocking his friends, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. “Do you know these people?”  
  
“Yes,” Stiles answers amazed, and the men step away, giving clear path. “What in the world…” He looks from Lydia to Scott. “What are you two doing all the way up here?”  
  
“Stiles,” Lydia pushes back the hood of her emerald cloak to send her vibrant red hair tumbling down her back. Her cheeks are flushed and cold when she presses them to his in a kiss. “It’s so good to see you again.”  
  
“This is unexpected.” Accepting her hug, Stiles squeezes her back, eyes going to Scott’s over her head. His shock is giving away to happiness. “Why did you not send word? I could have prepared rooms, had hot food and spirits waiting--”  
  
“There was no time.” Scott interrupts flatly. “I had to come quickly.”  
  
Stiles frowns at his tone, this can’t be a purely social visit. “What happened?”  
  
“You’re the only one who can help me, Stiles.” Scott has always been cheerful, smile ever present but now he is somber, looks seconds away from falling apart. “ I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you could.”  
  
“What the devil happened?”  
  
“Unbeknownst to myself and her, Allison is a distant relative of the Argents.” Scott takes a deep breath, and Derek’s men begin to murmur. “The King’s guard arrived a nearly two fortnights past, she is bound for the tower.”  
  
The world tilts on its Axis. The tower is a fate that rivals death, stone riddled with disease and misery; even the most hardened Were’s prefer the sentence of forced labor to it’s unforgiving walls.  
  
Mouth dry, Stiles tries to still his racing mind. “Allison is an Argent--”  
  
“ She is an  innocent! Allison cannot control who her family members are! The city is taken with madness, none bow to reason but merely heed the words of a King bent on blood.”  
  
Dread fills him, as Stiles looks at Scott’s gaunt face. All have heard word of the ‘witch hunt’ for informants and relatives. At the start of the war, the few humans in the capital had vacated quickly, seeking the friendly cities of their own kin hundreds of miles away, across the sea.    
  
“Stiles, you know Allison would never hurt anyone, for god‘s sake she married a Were there‘s no cause to question her loyalty without proper accusation.”  
  
“But why do you think I can do a thing--”  
  
“News of your marriage has spread through the capitol, all know Duke Hale has the king’s ear. I beg you, Stiles, as a friend--as a brother--have your Alpha implore the king on Allison’s behalf.”  
  
That’s like asking for rain in the desert. Stiles chest feels tight as he even pictures it. Derek is unyielding in that regard, the few times he has spoken of the war, his words and mind are tainted with rag, bitterness twisting every word. Derek is still hurting from Kate’s betrayal, even if he won’t admit it, and Stiles knows he’ll seek vengeance in the same manner as their King; on any and al who can stand in the woman’s place.  
  
Yet before Stiles can speak his mind, the front door opens and the topic of conversation stands before them. Clearly surprised to see the visitors, Derek looks at them suspiciously, starting at Scott, then Lydia and finally Stiles.  
  
“What is the meaning of this?” Derek asks slowly when none offer word, “The red banner flew after the yellow.”  
  
The red banner signals uncertainty, while the yellow friendly riders.  
  
“Miles clearly takes his duties far too seriously. “ Stiles weakly jokes but he knows he’s losing the battle already. Miles is one of Derek’s most trusted men, Derek will side with him on matters such as these. Still, Stiles has to try. “I have important matters to discuss with you, alpha.”  
  
At the formal use of ‘alpha‘ Derek lifts a dark brow, “Again, I ask you to explain why the arrival of your…. friends, would merit the red.”  
  
“Uhm,” Stiles clears his throat nervously. “Well, first and foremost, let’s not be rude, this is Lydia, she and I--”  
  
“Stiles!”  
  
“Okay!“ Stiles sends a quick prayer before just coming out with it, “Scott’s mate was arrested on suspicion of treason a fortnight ago.”  
  
Some of the ire in Derek’s gaze melts away to sympathy, “ And you think I can be of aid?”  
  
“Yes, Duke Hale.” Scott nods desperately, clearly taking heart at his empathy. “There is no one else to turn to and you are the king’s most trusted sword, a word from you would be enough to give him pause.”  
  
“And name of the woman I would stake my reputation on?”  
  
“Allison.” Scott replies. “She’s a lady, raised as such and has never given voice to betrayal of our king. None are more loyal to the crown than she and her family, these charges are born of terrible misunderstanding.”  
  
“I can vouch for her as well.” Lydia says, and Derek doesn’t look particularly impressed. “Allison is loyal to the King.”  
  
“Then what has this reputable woman done to stand accused as such?”  
  
“She’s…” Scott’s gaze falls to the dark carpet before meeting his eyes. “ She’s an Argent.”  
  
Any bit of sympathy bleeds out of his face  and Derek’s expression could be carved from stone. “I won’t do it.”  
  
“Derek,” Stiles tries to do something, anything. “I’ve known Allison for years, she’s sweet and intelligent girl-a little annoying but there’s no way she was involved in anything her very, _very_ , distant, unknown relatives plotted or--”  
  
“She’s an _Argent_!” Derek snarls coldly, voice cracking through the hall like a whip. “A traitor to the crown who will face her fate.” He turns to Miles, “See our guests out.”  
  
“It’s snowing!” Stiles protests. “You can’t--”  
  
“I can and I will.” Derek motions Miles forward, “ I will not provide sanctuary to traitors of the crown.”  
  
“Derek, these are my _friends_. If you would just listen to me, I‘m--”  
  
“Don’t argue with me!”  
  
“I’m trying to  have a discussion with you,” Stiles steps in front of Miles and the soldier looks uncertain. Adrenaline and anger prick down his spine. “I’d appreciate you at least hearing what I have to say.”  
  
“You _will_ yield to my command.” Derek’s stare is cold.  “Miles.”  
  
The direct order, another one even after they’d agreed to be true mates is  the last straw. Without another word, Stiles turns to face Lydia and Scott, both are as white as milk. As everyone watches he grabs his own cloak, and strides to the door.  
  
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”  
  
“Wherever I damn well please.”  
  
“Stiles,” Scott touches his wrist, “It’s not w --”  
  
“Remove your fucking hand.” Derek shoves Scott back hard, hands fisting in Scotts jacket. “I should have you held below in the barracks.”  
  
“Let go of him, jackass!” Stiles growls,  yanking Derek away. “ You can’t tell me where I can or cannot go.”  
  
“I am your alpha,and  _I_ can do just that!”  
  
Silence falls over the hall, and the soldiers, those who aren’t pretending to be deaf, are all awaiting his response.  
  
With a calmness he doesn‘t feel, Stiles takes first Lydia‘s hand and then Scott‘s. “Well, then let’s see how far your _command_ can reach.” Ignoring Derek’s dumbfounded expression, Stiles pushes past Miles, and although the soldier is much stronger and larger, he gives way. “We’re leaving.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
“Well,” Stiles drums his fingers against the scarred wooden table, the only substantive piece of furniture in Adam’s small cottage. “This is quite awkward.”  
  
Adam nods in agreement, looking at Lydia and Scott. “It seems all you and your alpha do is fight.”  
  
“Makes for amazing sex, I bet.” Erica adds cheerfully. “Why exactly are you helping a man who stinks of humans?”  
  
Scott bristles, “She’s my wife.”  
  
“Well la-dee-dah!” Erica jeers ale sloshing over her cup to wet the table. “A human is still a human.”  
  
“Now you sound like Derek.” Stiles snaps. “It doesn‘t matter what Allison is, that doesn’t mean she‘s a traitor.”  
  
“So what are you doing to do exactly?” Adam asks, “Without the Duke’s help, the king might throw _you_ in the dungeons along side that woman.”  
  
Miserable, Stiles deflates. “I have no idea, and to add to that, I’m homeless.”  
  
Scott sits down heavily next to him, “I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble.”  
  
“It’s not your fault.”  
  
“So the plan is what exactly?” Lydia speaks up, “To sit on our hands while Allison languishes away in the tower?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Stiles says,  “Just let me think.”  
  
“You should return to your, alpha.” Scott says quietly. “This will solve nothing, I will entreat the King on my own grounds.”  
  
“He’ll have your head for sure.” Derek says and all of them jump. Derek had masked his scent, no one had noticed his entry.  
  
Stiles jumps up, “I’m not going with you--”  
  
“Quiet, Stiles.” Derek growls, before turning to Scott. “You;  tell me of your beta.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
“Influenza?”  Jacqueline sighs, wrapping the blankets around the shivering pup. “How in the world would she sicken so?”  
  
“She’s young, ” Jackson listens to the labored breaths and miserable sniffles. “ And she fell into a creek at freezing temperatures.”  
  
“ And _hid_ it from me.”  Jacqueline chastises and the pup’s sniffles increase.  
  
“Regardless, plenty of rest and hot fluids.” Snapping the physicians bag shut, Jackson rises to his feet. “She should be fine within a week.”  
  
“And should I allow her to remain like this?”  
  
“Shifting now would only overly tire her.”  
  
“Thank you.” Jacqueline smiles,  but then looks unsure.  “I haven’t much coin but--”  
  
“It’s quite alright.” Jackson has no need for payment, and looking around the beta’s modest home he could never demand such.  “I only wanted to help.”  
  
“Thank you for coming all the way down to the village. I was just so worried and I’d heard that you gave  aid to Martha’s boy.”  
  
“You’re quite welcome.”  
  
Jackson’s nearly to the door when she stops him.  
  
“Pause a moment, my lord.” When Jackson turns he finds Jacqueline rummage through the large wooden trunk beneath her window sill. She pulls out a dark emerald swatch of material. “I… it’s not much but I make things and I thought.” She blushes darkly “When I began making this I thought of you anyway. Please take it.”  
  
It’s terribly coarse material but the gold stitching is excellent, neat and striking.  
  
Jackson  looks down at her and then as she watches slips the scarf around his neck. It's uncomfortable and his skin is already irritated. However, the act makes her smile brightly and she looks years younger.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome, my lord.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
“So?”  
  
“So, what?” Derek continues to disrobe, remaining silent on what had transpired. After fetching them from the village Derek and Scott had gone into Derek’s private quarters and spoke for hours. When they emerged, Scott was shown to the guest quarters.  
  
Stiles is bursting with curiosity and Derek is just being cruel, “What happened! Are you going to help Allison--”  
  
Derek sighs, walking to the bed, limping slightly. Stile feels a stab of remorse as he remembers that Derek has been on his feet, working all day.  
  
“You let them stay, that’s good...right?”  
  
“Stiles, regardless of how your Baron  holds her in affection, her people betrayed the King. She stands a traitor, her life worth less than a grain of sand. I pray that she has perished, it would be a mercy to the Tower.”  
  
“B-but…” Stiles swallows hard against rising tears and seizes hold of his anger. The unfeeling timbre of Derek’s voice wounds him deeply; that Derek can speak of Allison who weaves crowns of wildflowers and sings along the pianoforte and makes them laugh as if she is naught… is unforgivable. “You can not even _try_?”  
  
The words are accusation, and the blue flare of Derek’s eyes let him know they have been received as such.  
  
“You would have me stake my name, _my reputation_ , on an Argent? Have you forgotten all her people have caused me?”  
  
“She is innocent of misdeed!”  
  
“Our blood is still on her hands, _their_ blood is still on her hands!”  Derek’s chest heaves with the force of his shout, and Stiles watches with morbid fascination as his features twist, Alpha rising to the surface leaving him more animal than man.  “The ruin they caused is her birthright, she will stand in their place. Answer for the atrocities meted out onto my people. May the King show her the same mercy her family showed mine--”  
  
“Murdering Allison won’t bring them back!” Stiles raises to his knees, voice matching Derek’s. he has never cowered in his life, and today would not be the day he begins. “Kate _escaped_ , you must accept that. Allison is not her; her death will not avenge those of Laura  and Peter and Ci--”  
  
Derek takes him down with a force that knocks the breath from his chest. Stiles is momentarily stunned, imprisoned beneath the hard muscle of his alpha’s chest, wrist held above his head with a strength only irons know.  
  
“Don’t you dare speak their names to me in recrimination.”  
  
Despite Stiles’ anger, despite his indignation; the pain rolling off of his mate is strong enough, heavy enough to be tangible. Reacting to his distress, Stiles ceases to struggle, lays still under him as a tear slips out from beneath his lashes.  
  
Derek watches its progress, eyes track the wet line as it rolls back into his hair.  
  
“I know you’re hurt, Derek.” Stiles voice is hoarse and he hates the shouting.  “But you must know that more death will not heal your wounds.”  
  
Without a word Derek releases his hands, climbs off of him. And Stiles should let him go, let him cool down but Stiles has never done what he was supposed to do.  
  
Fiercely, Stiles catches Derek in a hug, presses against his back to keep him close. Just when Stiles believes Derek has progressed, just when he begins to smile again, life intrudes and memories run roughshod over the life they‘ve so tenuously built.  
  
They remain that way for quite sometime, long enough for the fire to burn low, and Stiles' legs to tingle with numbness.  
  
Finally, Derek’s hand closes over his against his chest.  Derek pats his fingers once, “Are you ever going to let me go?”  
  
Stiles shakes his head and he can feel the reverberation of laughter. “Tell me what Scott said.”  
  
“He… told me he loves her, that she is kind and gentle. That they met in the spring and her eyes reflected the morning clouds.” Derek’s fingers close over his. “ The baron said she was sunlight and he needed her warm rays to survive.”  
  
“How are you not moved?”  
  
“The King is not open to my voice, where I to inquire,…” Derek looks back at him, eyes uncertain. “If I am wrong and I speak for her, I lose all, Stiles. My lands, my people, my heritage-- any position that his majesty allowed me to retain. I do not know the Baron to put such trust in him.”  
  
Stiles brings their joined hands to his lips, kisses Derek‘s knuckles. “Then put your trust in _me_.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
There is no madness except love that could move him so.  Derek flinches away from the thought even as he lays his mate down, kisses every inch of his naked body and slides his tongue over his leaking cock before  drawing it into his mouth. Stiles moans, pushes up against him, seeking more; always more.  
  
It has been three days since the arrival of the Baron and the woman. Derek leaves for the King's stronghold at first light.  
  
Love is the madness that moves him to risk all, once more.

  
“Derek,” Stiles tugs on his hair pleadingly. “Come inside me, please. I need you, want to feel you.”  
  
Any other night and Derek would tease, draw out their mating until Stiles is leaving scratch marks down his back and thrashing against him. Were it another night, Derek would fuck him hard, on his hands and knees, manhandle Stiles until he’s completely at his mercy.  
  
But tonight is different. Tonight Derek slows down the kisses, tempers the urgency, looks Stiles in the eyes when he pushes into him, impales his welcoming body on his cock. Stiles’ pupils nearly swallow the hazel of his eyes and he isn’t looking away, hips rising to meet him, sweat beading at his brow.  
  
This is the closest to affection Derek can admit.  
  
The truth is, as foolish as Scott is, he speaks freely, unhindered by the past or self doubt. Derek had admired that in him, had perhaps decided to provide aide even before Stiles took him to task, because as Scott was speaking, as he spoke of an indiscernible warmth that he could not do without, Derek realized something; he was in love with Stiles Stilinski.  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
Nightfall finds Isaac near the fire, repairing a torn tapestry that little Emily had ripped accidentally while playing. With her mother so busy and worn out, Isaac had volunteered for the task. Needlework is not his strong suit, he can barely do three stitches in a  row.  And after he’s finished with that has to begin to polish the silverware for Stiles’ guests; his family is expected to make the journey for the Winter Solstice.  
  
Isaac is rather nervous at the thought of Jackson’s relatives filling the place, has wondered what it means for them. They’ve never spoken of the future, and Jackson hasn’t made promises but there are times when Jackson looks at him as if he lights the moon…  
  
Footsteps cause Isaac to look up, expecting Jackson but finding Bella, his welcoming smile dims. “Hello.”  
  
“Hello to you, to, sweet Isaac.” Bella chirps, humming along. “It’s all so exciting isn’t it? To think of how our lives have all changed with the Duke taking a mate, and you taking a….liking to tapestry.”  
  
Isaac bristles. “I suppose.”  
  
“You know, there is no greater pleasure than  a winter night such as this,” Bella smiles at him, fingers lingering over the polished mahogany wood as the firelight turns her hair to burnished gold.  “The chill causing all to seek their bed, blankets a welcome cocoon.”  
  
“Then perhaps you should seek your own bed.” There’s no time for Bella’s riddles, she only speaks to him when she needs something. “It’s late.”  
  
“My thought exactly.” She gives him a coy glance, “ Why are you not abed…when there is a man such as the Baron awaiting you?”  
  
Startled, Isaac drops the small jar of varnish. The pit cracks against the stone floor, amber liquid spilling to stain.  
  
With muffled curse, Isaac drops to his knees attempting to soak up the spill with a rag.  He has no reason to react as such but he can not hide the blush of shame that warms his cheeks to hear such a thing so openly. He can see what she’s thinking and it makes his skin crawl. Isaac is not like her.  
  
“Did I surprise you?” Bella’s thrilled beneath feigned concern. “You did not attempt to mask it.”  
  
“If you have something to say, spit it out.”  
  
Batting her eyes, Bella shrugs, “The winter is long, and I would have some new garments now that a proper seamstress is among us.”  
  
“Then do so.”  
  
“My alpha refuses to spare the coin, the amount Lydia commands is far beyond his reach…” Her hand falls upon his, stills the needle. “And yet would be a paltry sum to a lord.”  
  
“You wish for me to ask the Baron for coin?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Even the thought sickens him, “And why would I do so?”  
  
“Because I am your friend.”  
  
“You are no such thing.”  
  
“Because you are so above me?” Lips curled back in a sneer, Bella tosses the rag against his chest. “ You who _spreads_ his legs for a man who is spoken for?”  
  
The words land with the strength of a slap, sting far more so. It cannot be true Jackson wouldn’t…he would not.  “E-excuse me?”  
  
“You’ve forgotten yourself, dear Isaac, lulled into complicity by a few honeyed words.” Bella’s words are laden with hate and disgust. “But I think you shall be reminded of your place when the Stiles’ family arrives,   the Baron’s _fiance_ in tow.”  
  
Isaac can not find the words, and Bella laughs harder.  
  
“Did you expect him to spend Winter Solstice away from his mate? Of course he wouldn’t, how would that look to society? To that distinguished and celebrated, sweet beta’s family?”  
  
“Your words are false.”  Even with his own ears, Isaac hears the doubt. “I will not entertain your vulgarity--”  
  
“You’re naught but a little slut to the lord! A dirty little secret he wishes for all within the castle walls to keep. Do you know he gave me twenty pounds so I would lie to Derek about his comings and goings from your chamber? You stupid, stupid boy, I almost pity you, it‘s a difficult position for people like us to be in” Bella picks up the empty varnish jar, drops it unto his lap. “You better clean all of this up before Lady Sophia arrives. We can’t have her thinking her mate has been abiding in a hovel, can we?”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
The gold pendant catches the light of the moon, diamond circle winking back up at him. Jackson has had this necklace for years, the chains forged his comfort when the ache of his mother's absence was too much to bear. His grandfather had given him the chain, and Jackson had treasured it always, promised to never be parted with the last piece of her. His intentions have changed.  
  
Living in the North has made him into a person he doesn’t recognize, he has dirt beneath his nails and shifts dozens of times a week, not just for the Full moon. The children no longer fear him, and Jackson finds that he is being called daily to tend to the sick, young and old alike. He feels as if he has purpose, as if he is _needed_ , something he hasn’t felt since he left his military unit.  
  
There is a freedom within these rough hewn borders that is sweeter than the crowds adoration, and Jackson has come to realize that all  he needs are what is reflected in Isaac’s gold eyes.  
  
It’s terrifying to even allow himself to consider, to think that he can turn his back on his pedigree, on the future he was groomed for; and yet, here he is, holding his most precious belonging  and preparing to give it away.  
  
When the door to Isaac’s chambers opens, Jackson instinctively smiles, reaches for him to receive a kiss. Instead he is greeted with a solid punch to the chin that leaves him reeling and his lip split.  
  
“What in the--”  
  
“You fucking _liar_.” The three words are guttural, hoarse as if Isaac is tearing them loose form somewhere deep with.  
  
Jackson stops cold in his tracks, necklace slipping from his limp hand unnoticed to the floor.  
  
“You know.”  
  
It‘s not possible but Isaac looks even more wrecked, broken and hurting and Jackson feels as if he‘s physically in pain. He wants to chase the sadness away, make him smile again, explain himself but he cannot.  
  
Jackson had known that this could happen, too many servants gossip and many had been at his home when he and Derek had been together. Bloody Derek, the bastard is still ruining his life even halfway to the King’s land as he is.  
  
“How long did you think I would remain in the dark?”  
  
The sadness in Isaac's voice is deeply disturbing. Jackson is unsure of what course of action to pursue, he means to take Isaac within his arms but the omega steps away, eyes going hard.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Isaac…” Jackson lets his hand drop to his side, begins carefully. “That was the past, it has nothing to do with us right now at this moment. Truthfully, its one of my biggest regrets.”  
  
“You call your betrothal a regret, you son of a bitch?”  
  
“Betrothal?” Jackson’s jaw drops. “I was never betrothed to Derek! It was nothing but a string of tawdry nights, something I am most ashamed of--”  
  
“You and …Derek.”  
  
The words are hollow--ring with shock-- and it’s with horror that Jackson realizes his mistake. That this is so much worse than he had  imagined. “You spoke of Sophia.”  
  
“I spoke of Sophia.” Isaac repeats brokenly, “And yet there is more, there are always more bloody lies with you!”  
  
“I’ve never--”  
  
“Shut up!” Isaac’s voice rises and awareness pricks at Jackson’s spine; anyone can hear them. The servants quarter's walls offer little privacy.  
  
“Isaac, let us go to the eastern wing, I am quartered alone, so we can discuss this matter privately--”  
  
“Of course, even now, all you care about is appearances. That’s why you’re with me in the seclusion of night but are a stranger by day--”  
  
“You know that’s not true.” Jackson hisses, hand clamping down on Isaac’s wrist as he tries to push past. They’re both breathing heavily and Jackson feels such a tenuous grip on control it’s frightening. “Derek threatened to have my head! You know how I …feel about you.”  
  
They’d been at odds from the start, which is precisely why Jackson had been struck so hard by the affection Isaac roused in him. He’d annoyed him, challenged him, brought him to the brink of pleasure and shown him a world he never knew existed even as he dwelled within it.  
  
Now that he’s  losing him, Jackson feels as if he’ll go mad.  
  
“I know _nothing_.” Isaac shoves him away, “All I know is what stands before me; a coward. I want nothing to do with a _liar_ and a _cheat_ \--”  
  
“Let me explain.” It’s the closest Jackson has come to begging in his life. “Isaac, just hear me out. I was to speak with my grandfather executors at the Solstice, I --”  
  
“ I’m done with your lies, and I’m done with you.” Isaac bares his canines, eyes glowing ferociously as he shoves Jackson out the door. “I never want to see you again.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one can ever accuse me of not bringing the angst :)
> 
> I can see the end of this story like a ship on the horizon,and I'm SO excited to complete the work! Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> As always, thoughts, comments, love and flames are all appreciated. And if you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know.
> 
> And the story told by Jackson's mother was adapted from "The Romance of The Sun and the Moon" found at : http://www.crystalrivers.com/stories/sun_and_moon.html.
> 
> Also some warnings and personal thoughts DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED but it's potentially triggery.
> 
> In this chapter there is talk of abortion of the mpreg variety, so if that makes you uncomfortable or triggers you, skip past. I've never written and abortion in my stories and i don't plan to ever do that, but it's discussed.
> 
> xC

***Isaac***  
  
Since their confrontation Jackson has made no effort to speak with him. Isaac would laugh at the irony of Bella’s intelligence if it didn’t hurt so much. The pain within  only intensifies when he thinks on it even worse when he catches glimpses of Jackson‘s broad back in his signature whites. Jackson goes about life as if nothing has transpired, continues to see to any ailing Weres in the villages and keeps Stiles company.  
  
Of course Isaac doesn’t merit a second thought to someone like Jackson, he‘d been a fool o believe otherwise. Jackson is probably glad that he’s rid of him, no mess or complications.  
  
During the night, Isaac wakes to the restless stomping of horses. He doesn’t know what draws him to his window, what compels him to watch as Jackson  mounts the readied carriage with all the fanfare of a King, his soldiers and footmen lined up neatly in front and behind.  
  
Jackson  preparing for departure before first light, under the cover of dissolving stars and breaking dawn doesn’t come as a surprise although it stings.  It’s customary for an alpha to always meet his betrothed’s family midway.  A sign of respect and acceptance.  
  
All things Jackson clearly never felt for him.  
  
As the horses snort, awaiting command of their master, nausea  over takes Isaac, sends him to his knees beside the chamber pot and he empties the contents of his stomach. The bitter taste is a brutal reminder of what he has known for a little over a week, since he heard that rapid beat of life within his womb.  
  
The first awareness of a cub’s presence is a sacred occasion; a milestone enjoyed first by the omega mother alone and than celebrated by the Alpha when the pregnancy progressed past the third month. The alpha catches the scent of their own litter usually within the second month of gestation. But there are ways to hide the presence of the cub, herbs such as Capria that will keep Isaac’s scent constant and mask the rhythmic patter of it’s pulse.  
  
Tears burn at the back of Isaac’s lids, forced there by his retching.  
  
Below in the courtyard, Jackson departs.  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Since Derek departed, the castle has been alive and bustling with activity.  
  
As soon as the his father’s messenger had reached the castle walls and  announced that the group would arrive in two days journey, Stiles has directed every hand be put to use. Lydia has been instrumental in his plans, she has an eye for fashion and her ideas are renowned as fashionable in the capitol. With Lydia’s feminine touches, the castle is being transformed from functional to comfortable; it feels like a home. She’s re-stitched and repaired several of the plush pillows, and has fashioned long emerald curtains with dark velvet borders.  
  
The past few days have also shown Stiles that he can command a village as well as a household. The people are more than willing to give aid, hearts open in a way that Stiles finds touching. While the villagers clear away brush, ice and snow from the roads, and scrub down the stone with wood lye, Derek’s soldiers strip the carpets from the floors and set them on a line to air out all the accumulated dust from the past weeks.    
  
The soldiers grumble about the menial chores they’re forced to do, and Stiles has caught more than one whiff of resentment  directed his way, but none refuse thankfully. The castle must be shining and spotless when his father, extended family and friends arrive. It’s their first proper visit, and from his Father’s letters, Stiles knows he  holds many doubts about his mating.  
  
Stiles would see every doubt laid to rest.  True, things had been difficult in the beginning, but Derek entreating the king on his behalf shows just how much he cares. Although Stiles longs to hear those three words he’s dreamt of since he was eight years old, he’s happy here, and as soon as his father sees that--as soon as he hears of what Derek has done for Allison-- he’ll be more than ready to repair their relationship. Then they’ll all pass a wondrous winter solstice together, just like he recalls from his childhood.  
  
“Bella!” Stiles drops the napkins he’s been folding with Lydia unto the white tablecloth when he sees the girl  pass down the narrow hallway carrying a vase of flowers, “Have the men place sweet grass under each mat after they’re brought in, my father favors the scent.”  
  
“Of course.” Bella sweeps by with a dismissive tone. “I’ll do that right away.”  
  
“And another thing,” Stiles isn’t sure she’s even heard him, this entire morning he’s been having to repeat himself and irritation is settling in. “Where’s Isaac? I haven’t seen him all morning.”  
  
Bella shrugs daintily, placing the vase on the end table. “Probably abed.”  
  
“Is he sick?”  
  
“No.” Her eyes go malicious, “Just lazy.”  
  
“Why would you speak of him so?”  
  
“I speak only the truth.”  
  
“Isaac is the hardest working--”  
  
“Perhaps he was before he caught your brother’s attentions, now he has loftier ambitions. These past few months have seen him more mistress than servant; he forgets his place.”  
  
“It is you who forgets your place,” Stiles snaps coldly. He‘s shocked at her nerve.“ Cease such talk immediately; I’d not have you spreading lies.”  
  
“I apologize if I have offended you, my lord, but my words are truth. Isaac has remained abed for the past four days, and when I sought to rouse him he refused.”  
  
“Then it must be sickness that keeps him so.” Stiles doesn’t soften his tone. “See to it that hot soup is delivered to his chambers.”  
  
It’s obvious the request angers her but they both know she cannot refuse. “As you wish.”  
  
“And Bella? I _will_ be with him so make sure you see to it quickly.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Stiles knocks on the door of Isaac’s chamber gently. “Isaac? Are you awake?”  
  
There’s a muffled thud, “Come in.”  
  
The chamber is dark, curtains drawn against the bright afternoon sunshine. Stiles is unsure of how to proceed, in the entire time he’s known Isaac the other omega has been headstrong, self assured in a way Stiles envied.  
  
“I wanted to see how you were doing, you’ve been absent for days and Bella told me--”  
  
“My apologies, I know that you’re undergoing preparations  but I’ve  had a persistent stomach problem,” Isaac’s as pale as milk, dark circles beneath his eyes. “ But I will be back to work tonight.”  
  
“You will do no such thing; stay and rest as long as you need to, you look terrible.”  
  
“Thank you.” The words are whisper thin. “But I’m fine.”  
  
“Your soup.” Bella appears at the door, tray held in front. “The cook only had lentils on hand.” She looks satisfied when Isaac’s turns a shade green.  “Apologies if the fare isn’t to your liking.”  
  
“Or,” Stiles interjects, “Bella will be happy to go to the storehouses and fetch carrots and onions for a beef broth, if lentils are not to your liking?”  
  
“Lentils are fine.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Jackson’s hands are trembling upon the reigns and he knows his movements have naught to do with the godforsaken cold. Nerves have wound him into knots; the closer they ride to his father and the Beauforts, the harder it is to keep a hold of himself.  
  
Amongst the quiet of the trail and the soft talk of the men, Jackson recalls his mother’s voice, as sweet and gentle as her hand in his hair.  
  
 _Luna, the protector of all Weres, although surrounded by myriads of tiny, sparkly stars, felt a deep loneliness as he watched those below him fall in love. Restless, he searched the skies, but there was nobody. Luna remained suspended in the sky with none to touch him until a tiny star whispered to him of a great being, the sun, who brought joy and light to the world. He listened with interest, for it seemed that once, a long time ago, he had seen a being such as this. Beautiful as he was, the sun seemed always just beyond his reach._  
  
 _As time went by,  Luna continued to follow the sun, always coming nearer to him, always hearing that he had just left that portion of the sky, or was just over the next mountain range. Where before there was despair, now he was always hopeful, for he knew that he was approaching the sun’s presence. The moon came closer and closer, until one day came when he stood before the sun._  
  
 _The world looked up and saw only darkness - in the middle of the day. But the darkness was the meeting of two hearts; the moon stood mid-way between the sun and the earth, and all of his glory was for him. His light blotted out all of the moon’s loneliness, all of his pain, all of his past._  
  
 _However, Luna knew he could not remain, for darkness would destroy the earth, so with a heavy heart he went away. But every year, the longing and love brings the sun and moon back together and the world plunge into darkness._  
  
 _Such is the soul of a Were, Jack. It yearns for the glorious light of love, which destroys all loneliness and memory.  And when your find your sun, holdfast, never let him go; not for the world._  
  
The story of the Eclipse had been her favored tale, she said his father was her sun. The title of Wisteria and the lands that accompany it are all Jackson has left of his mother now, even her necklace has been taken from him. He must’ve dropped it in the woods when he shifted and ran  until his lungs ached the night Isaac had rejected him.  
  
But as much as he cherishes his mother’s memory, wants her to be proud of him; Jackson finds himself bound by a deeper devotion. One that she would undoubtedly understand.    
  
As a child, Jackson had been taught to nourish his soul, to answer the call of his own alpha and to devote himself to a life he could be proud of. However, without her, he’d lost all of that; that is until he found his sun.  
  
On the night his mother passed, the skies had split open and rain had thundered down over the lands, spreading midnight pools of black all throughout the pastures, flooding into the barns.  
  
Isaac’s eyes are the same deep black as those flood waters when he cries. It’s a sight Jackson will never forget, and he vows to spend the rest of his life repaying Isaac for every bit of misery he’s brought him; starting with his fiance.  
  
The expected title and lands of Wisteria which used to hold such great importance have become inconsequential. Jackson doesn’t know when he began imagining forever with Isaac but he wants that.  More than anything, he wants to fall asleep with his face pressed against the curls at the base of Isaac’s neck, he wants to wake to his kittenish yawns, he wants to argue with him and fight and yell and fuck. He wants everything with him, and him alone.  
  
But to get it all, Jackson knows he has to tread carefully. He must break the betrothal carefully, maneuver so as not to insult the king’s relatives. Not only do the Beauforts control much of the trade ports his father’s men rely on but Taylor remains unmatched. Jackson would not see his brother’s chances at a  beneficial union dashed by his own actions.  
  
By the end of the second day, Jackson glimpses the gold, blue and red gilded carriages just over the snow covered ridge. The unnecessary opulence rouses his irritation even as his stomach churns. Jackson  prays that Isaac will be waiting for him when it‘s all over.  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
The envoy of carriages hasn’t even come to a full stop when Stiles loses all patience and propriety and flies down the stairs to run into the courtyard. He waits like a child bouncing on his heels as the footmen step down and open the doors. The moment his father steps out, Stiles jumps into his arms, grabs him in a bear hug.  
  
“I see being the omega of a household has not yet tamed you into a proper lord.” John scolds but he’s smiling, eyes bright with happiness as he touches Stiles‘ face and smoothes down his hair affectionately. “I have missed you, son.”  
  
Stiles grins up at him, “Of course you have.”  
  
“You look well.” John steps beside him, looking around the courtyard. “I am glad.”  
  
“Well, my mate has taken very good care of me.”  
  
The rest of the carriages unload and there are several more rounds of kisses and greetings exchanged. Cloud streaks by them, barking excitedly and Stiles laughs at the children’s delight.    
  
Leora bends down to hold him, but finds Cloud far heavier than he was upon her last visit.  
  
“He has grown fat!” Leora declares loudly, “I can’t pick him up!”  
  
“She has only grown.” Stiles corrects fondly, “Eight months old today.”  
  
“Wow.” Leora looks suitably impressed. “Like my horsie.”  
  
“The little chit tired to force the colt to make the journey north.” Matthew says as he  helps his wife down from the second carriage. “Threw quite a fit when I denied her.”  
  
“She did not,” Claire smiles sweetly, a vision of emeralds and lace beneath a floor length white fur cloak. “ My daughter is a lady.”  
  
“I am a lady!” Leora screams petulantly and they all laugh because even now her white skirts are muddy. “Mama says so.”  
  
“And you…” Claire presses a kiss to both of his cheeks, “ You have grown as well… fat or something more?”  
  
Taylor leaps down from his mount, “Pregnant?”  
  
“No.” Stiles’ cheeks flame, “Bastard, I’ve grown content.”  
  
“It’s an innocent question!” Taylor guffaws, “ I am merely--”  
  
“You are  _merely_ torturing your brother.” John interjects, “All of you, I raised you better than to gossip in an open courtyard. Come then,” John pushes him forward gently, “Claire, fetch Cameron and we’ll be on our way indoors. The Beauforts' envoy  are but half a days journey behind, we can‘t allow them to see us this way.”  
  
Stiles frowns, “The Beauforts…?”  
  
“Yes.” Taylor fixes Stiles with an amused look, “Jackson’s intended, surely you haven’t forgotten.”  
  
“But I thought that was just a childish thought, she--”  
  
“She is a Beaufort.” John finishes, tone brooking no argument. “She desires a match into our family, and we are _honored_ to have her.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
Morning finds the Beauforts upon their doorway and Isaac upon the overlook. Even in the winter, Isaac is comfortable. It’s beautiful up here, at least this one thing will never change, the comfort of nature never fades.  
  
The glow of the rising sun illuminates the frost on the grass and sends rays of reflecting light fracturing back into the sky.  His grandfather used to say that each multicolored ray was magic. Isaac wouldn’t mind a little of that right now, he’s really gotten himself into trouble.  
  
Isaac stubbornly tells himself he did not flee up here to hide, he just needed fresh air. Cloud barks once as if to say even he is in disbelief and Isaac sighs, shifting the pup up on his lap. Cloud had followed him outdoors and Isaac was desperate for any company so he didn‘t turn him away.  
  
Before Jackson, his life had been simple; a little lonely but he’d been content. He  preferred it to this festering hurt; the huge weight he feels now even as a child grows within him.  
  
Tears have never been given over lightly and Isaac recalls the weight of each one he ever shed. He hates that he cares so much, that he feels so much when it comes to Jackson. His carelessness has ruined him.  
  
Miserable, Isaac wipes his face with the back of his hand as he finishes the rest of the goblet of Capria tea. Cloud squirms against his stomach and Isaac stares down at it’s flat planes, imagines it big and heavy with his child before he lets the thought go. He can get through this, through the winter solstice and certainly through that jackass. He’s survived worse.  
  
A twig snaps behind him and  Isaac drops his goblet.  
  
“I thought I’d find you here.”  
  
Isaac’s stomach roils at the familiar voice.  Without turning around, he asks, “What do you want?”  
  
“Many things, but for now? I’d accept just one look in my direction.”  
  
 _Why could he not be left in peace?_  
   
Isaac squeezes his eyes shut, concentrates on the sound of the wind. “I’ve no desire to set eyes upon you, did I not make that clear?”  
  
“I understand how things may look to you, but I can promise you that--”  
  
“Promises from you are worth less than horse shit.”  
  
“You won’t even let me defend myself!” Jackson bursts in typical fashion. “ For all the insults you’ve heaped upon my person, you’re too much of a coward to face that what we have worth fighting for, it‘s worth somethin--”  
  
“What we had was _sex_ , nothing more.” Isaac faces him furiously. Jackson is standing, face drawn and hair mussed by the icy wind.  He’s amazed that his voice remains level, that although his eyes are bruised, he has his pride. “I was a fool not to accept coin for it.”  
  
“Never,” Jackson‘s whole face changes, canines bearing as he growls. “ _Never_ , refer to yourself in such a way. I was with you-- _I wish to be with you_ \-- because I care for you; damn it, you know I do. What else could bring me to such madness?”  
  
“You are driven by lust.”  
  
“That’s not.” Jackson sucks in a deep breath. “It is not lust but ….it is love; I love you.”  
  
The words feel like a punch to the gut; robbing Isaac of breath and hurting far more than anything of the past days.  
  
“Have I finally rendered you speechless?” Jackson steps forward, eyes fervent and bright as the frozen lakes beneath the sun “I am proud in many things, _but not in this_ : I love you, I will not have another, regardless of what was decided long before my birth. There is no one else I see but you.”  
  
More than anything Isaac wishes the past couple of days had never happened; he wishes that he could go back to ignorance and romance but reality will not allow him delusion. At least he will have this to remember Jackson by, the warmth of his gaze, the tick of his jaw as he says ‘I love you’ with the same intensity with which he wields a sword.  
  
Pretty words, flowered poetry that mean nothing in the light of day because Isaac knows Jackson, and there is nothing as important as his title, as his position in society.  
  
“You love me.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Then prove it,” Isaac says quietly, “The Beauforts are here, are they not? They’re a stone’s throw away, right below.” He ignores the silent pleading in Jackson’s eyes. “Go down, tell them all what you just said to me.”  
  
“It’s not.” Jackson’s voice cracks. “It’s not that simple.”  
  
“But it is.” Isaac replies hollowly. “It is.”  
  
“I’d need _time_ , and the winter solstice doesn’t--”  
  
“We’re done, Jackson.” Isaac doesn’t want to hear excuses. “Leave me be.”  
  
“You cannot deny what is between us, the fire that ignites when I touch you.” As if to prove his point Jackson steps forward purposefully invades Isaac’s space until all he can scent is him. Cloud scampers off, running back down the trail. “You want me, I can tell.”  
  
“I never said I didn’t.” Isaac flattens his palms against Jackson’s chest, pushes him away. “But want and need are not the same.”  
  
“I won’t let you walk away from me.”  
  
“It’s not your choice to make; release me.” Isaac flexes his fingers, tugging his arm away.  In the past he’d have had no issue removing Jackson from himself but he finds himself hesitating. “ I _said_ release me.”  
  
“No,” Jackson’s eyes drops to his mouth and Isaac curses the quickening of his breath, the tingle that shudders through him at his alpha’s scent. “You belong to me--”  
  
“I--”  
  
“As I belong to you.” Jackson finishes right before his lips cover Isaac’s own to chase his breath away in a matter of moments.    
  
Isaac fights to hold himself rigid but finds his body betraying him, melting against Jackson’s strong body, encouraging his hands when the run down his back, reach up to cup his cheeks and hold his mouth steady for the plundering of his tongue.  
  
Isaac wants to give in; it’s weak, it something he shouldn’t do but he’s overwhelmed and Jackson knows it.  
  
“God, I miss this, miss you.” Jackson murmurs against his lips, “Isaac, _please_ …”  
  
The feel of Jackson’s cock against his stomach breaks the spell  and Isaac begins to fight in earnest. “Stay away from me!”  
  
Jackson stares back at him, expression lost and wounded.  
  
“I believe you heard the man.” Adam steps out of the shadows and the situation quickly grows out of hand.

Jackson’s scent has spiked, his eyes flashing dangerously as he snarls at the beta.  
  
“You should not address your betters so.”  
  
“He said, _let go._ ” Adam marches forward and yanks Jackson’s hand back, fingers encircling his wrist. “A true lord would not act in such a coarse manner on an unwilling omega.”  
  
The barb hits deep, Jackson’s mouth thins into a line of rage. “I could see you hanged for accosting me.”  
  
Beneath his lingering tan, Adam goes a shade pale but he continues to stand his ground. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”  
  
Jackson sneers, “My _word_ is enough to have your life.”  
  
“Then I will share the same fate “ Isaac steps around him to and takes Adam’s hand, gently pulls it free of Jackson’s coat sleeve. “See me to the gallows as well if you voice accusation against him.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
For the duration of the ride, Derek has been staring at Scott’s back.  And the more time that passes, the more Derek resents the boy; and himself. Not for the first time, Derek questions his own decision. The last time he’d seen their Alpha, the affection and favor he’d grown accustomed to as the only son of the king’s favored Duke had evaporated. Instead, the king had tolerated him because he was his father’s son.  
  
As it is, Derek expects a harsh reprimand for even daring to offer counsel where none was sought. And for what? For Scott’s human bitch. No, Derek mentally corrects himself, for Stiles. For that unchanged part of him that needs to retain his affection.  
  
“I do not like this.” Miles comments for what seems to be the twentieth time since they crossed out of Derek’s territory.  The soldier has never strayed from his right hand side, has seen Derek through countless battles and bears wounds inflicted by silver across his ribs that will never fade.“ You know nothing of the girl to place your life in the King’s hands.”  
  
“Stiles knows her.” It sounds flimsy to his own ears. “That is enough.”  
  
“It certainly is not--”  
  
“It is.” Derek cuts him a sharp glance, urging his mount forward through the melting snow. Their journey is severely hampered by the thick mud that comes with the thaw. “I understand your hesitation Miles, but Stiles is an excellent judge of character, hell, he wanted to mate with me…even after everything.”  
  
“That but proves the boy is blind to the changes in yourself and in others.”  
  
“That _boy_ is your omega duke.”  
  
“A fact of which I am well aware,” Miles sighs, “However, I have served your family for two decades; I have seen your father fall and nearly saw you to the same end. Whatever direction you chose, I will follow.”  
  
The wind whips around them and  freezing rain  begins to fall from the sky. “What other choice did I have?”  
  
Before Miles can respond, the Were’s who are riding ahead release a sharp warning  howl. Through the onslaught of rain, Derek catches their scent; humans.    
  
Men are falling from their horses to his left and right, dropping in the mud to suffocate beneath the hooves of the stallions. The sting of an arrow grazing Derek’s cheek dulls to the terrifyingly familiar burn of wolfs bane.  The unit erupts into a frenzy, the rain and winds eclipsing the direction of the attackers.  
  
Desperately searching, Derek struggles to calm his stallion, eyes scanning the wilderness through the down pour. He registers Scott lurching to the right as an arrow pierces through his shoulder and another catches below his chest. The scream of pain that rips from his throat makes it evident that he is not a soldier.  
  
Derek thinks of Stiles as he provides aid, hand reaching out for Scott’s and the boy grabs it in desperation. “Keep your head down.”  
  
“What?” Scott doesn’t seem to be aware of anything, blood bubbling from his mouth to stain his lips and chin red. “I don’t…w-why?”  
  
“Protect yourself, Scott.” Derek snaps. “ And know this, you wanted to see your precious Allison and this is what she has done.”  
  
“She didn’t…”  
  
“Humans, “Derek snarls. “Bloody fucking humans this far into Were territory who attack at precisely a juncture where we are without recourse for retreat. This is not happenstance; _she_ did this! Your stupidity has cost us all our lives.”  
  
Tears pour down Scott’s face, mixing with blood and Derek feels nothing but disgust.  
  
“Square formation.” Miles shouts over the noise, heels digging into his mount’s side as he slips effortlessly into command. “Archers at your ready!”  
  
Miles words essentially puts all lives before Derek’s own; it’s a weight he’s shouldered before but finds he can do so no longer. None among them deserve to fall  
  
“Canae formation!” Derek  supersedes  Miles’ order and the men fall away, leaving the center open for attack as he instructed. He catches a flash of auburn in the wooded area behind. “Left flank, advance!”  
  
Even before the humans descend from the left and right side, even before they rain a barrage of arrows down on them and several Weres fall; Derek knows this is a losing battle.  
  
And yet Derek tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword,  charges forward to slice through the first line. The spray of warm blood that spatters over his boots makes it all worthwhile; he will be captured of that he has no doubt but several humans will fall before he does.  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
The Beauforts are an old family, distinguished  and well known.  Their fortune was made centuries ago when the first ships ventured out across the great waters in search of exploration and trade. While many explorers had failed, the ships financed by the Beauforts had returned laden with gold, precious gems and exotic slaves.  
  
The Beauforts wear their importance like a shield, showering their two children Brighton and Sophia with gifts, money --whatever they desire. That is obvious in the way they take Stiles’ preparation for granted.  While the boy is holding audience, Stiles focuses his attention on  the girl.  
  
Lady Sophia is but a child, but one of promising great beauty  and wealth. Nearing thirteen she’s transitioning into a woman yet her mannerisms are spoilt, infantile although she doesn’t mean ill.  
  
“More wine.” Brighton raises his cup in the air impatiently and Bella comes forward eagerly. “Not you,” He snipes, gaze falling behind her to and on  Isaac, “ _You_.”  
  
Stiles grits his teeth but doesn’t object, he cannot without offending the family.  Mouth tight, Isaac comes forward with a flagon, filling his cup.  
  
“I find your local fare absolutely…titillating.” Brighton has been making comments and innuendos all throughout supper, none of which are subtle. “There’s nothing like it in the capitol.”  
  
Several of the Beaufort’s alphas laugh, the meaning very clear. It’s not uncommon for most men to tease servants but Stiles has always hated behavior such as this. Jackson doesn’t say a word and Stiles wants to punch him in the face. He can see Jackson’s discomfort, and yet he allows idiotic court politics to restrain him.  
  
“Tell me,” Brighton continues boldly, and his hand moves out of sight to undoubtedly land on Isaac’s knee. “Where can one find goods such as these?”  
  
“France.” Stiles blurts out, he’s done holding his tongue.  “The wine is imported, not local. You won‘t find it here.”  
  
All eyes snap to him, but Jackson’s are the only ones that are grateful.  
  
“I’m sure your collection  is far superior, Brighton.” John smoothes any ruffled feathers with a smile. “And if you do wish to sample the local spirits, Stiles will escort your personally. Or perhaps the duke will. When did you say Derek was returning?”  
  
“A week at most, he’s gone to entreat the king,”  
  
John is surprised, “On whose behalf?”  
  
“Allison’s.” Stiles frowns, amidst all of the Beauforts fanfare he hasn’t had time to speak with his father. “ Surely you’ve heard? The King has accused her of treason, has bound her for the tower.”  
  
Very slowly John lowers his fork. “I have heard of such a thing.”  
  
“Yet you stood idle ?”  
  
Silence falls over the table. “The kings word’s are truth.”  
  
“But you know Allison.” Stiles looks around at the faces of his family, “You all do.”  
  
“I did know her;” John replies gently, his voice the same manner it had been when Minoa had passed. “She’s changed.”  
  
“What do you mean by ‘she‘s changed’?”  
  
“Upon the passing of her mother there became a coldness about her. Whenever I was in  her company, my discomfort grew.  
  
“It was grief...I had to be.”  
  
“ I tried to convince myself it was, but, when the accusation came, I found that I was not surprised. Her relatives had grown secretive, entering the city under the cloak of the night and disappearing by dawn. Her father was captured with barrels of silver, ready to be melted down.”  
  
 “Scott did not speak of such things.”  
  
“All became aware, the boy purposefully remains ignorant.”  
  
“Stiles," Lydia’s face is white. “Scott said Allison asked him herself  to seek Derek’s aide, before she was taken away.”  
  
“Taken away?” John scoffs. “Allison was not arrested.”  
  
Stiles‘ blood runs cold. “That cannot mean--”  
  
John stands to his feet, and it is the stance of a soldier. “When did Derek depart?”  
  
The pieces have fallen into place and the picture is horrifying  
  
“Four days past,” Fear makes Stiles’ voice shake, “He left only with a small unit, said the castle had to be heavily guarded for your arrival. Dad, what do you mean she wasn‘t arrested--”  
  
“A trap.” Matthew inhales sharply. “It’s a fucking trap, just like in the war.”  
  
“Ready all the fighting men you can spare.” Jackson rushes for the door and the room erupts into chaos. “We have to find him.”  
  
“I’m going with you.” Stiles says, shaking. “I have to.”  
  
John restrains him “You will do no such thing, your place is within the home--”  
  
“My place is beside my mate!”  
  
“Genim you listen to me, and hear me well, you will not--”  
  
“Father! Enough. Stiles is no longer a child.” Jackson intervenes, grabbing Stiles by the forearm to pull him ahead. “He rides with me.”  
  
 ***Bella***  
  
While the entire castle panics and  readies for departure, Bella calmly continues to bring out the remaining courses of the dinner.  The Beauforts do not seem to share the Stilinski’s concern, going about their fare as if the disruption had never occurred. The only person bother is the child, she’s been sulking ever since Jackson exited. Lady Sophia’s infantile fascination with the Baron is amusing and Bella knows it may prove profitable if she plays her hand correctly.

The Beauforts just may be her ticket out of the North and away from her alpha.  
  
So while the adults carry on conversation of war and the King, Bella speaks with the girl at length, compliments the rich silk of her gown and beauty of her styled hair. Lady Sophia accepts the praise, and begins to engage with her more and more. She speaks like a true child of the capitol, gossips of lords and ladies Bella neither knows nor cares to know.  
  
“I still find it improper that Stiles was allowed to accompany the alpha.” Lady Beaufort says for the second time. This time her words aren’t ignored.  
  
“I agree.” Claire especially looks distressed, “He may be with child, what then?”  
  
“A rather bold move,.” Brighton twirls his wine glass between his fore finger and thumb clearly bored by the thought of the duke‘s death. “ However, Stiles has always been inclined to flashy whims, hasn’t he? But no matter how much he plays at ’alpha’ an omega’s place is within the home, on their back--”  
  
“Brighton.” The elder Beaufort chides, “We are in polite company.”  
  
Sophia giggles, cheeks blushing bright. “Father, I know of all these things.” Whispering conspiratorially, she leans close to Bella. “I personally cannot wait!”  
  
Bella smiles indulgently forcing herself to feign interest, but then she sees Isaac near his station, hands twisting in front of him in a visible sign of worry.  No doubt despite all that has transpired he is worried for the Baron. For some reason that angers her.  
  
 “I’m sure you will be a _wonderful_ mother.”  
  
“You think so? It’s all so _exciting_!” Lady Sophia squeals, clapping her hands pleasure. “I cannot wait until I have children!”  
  
It’s comical as the bitch is but a child herself but Bella is aware of their growing audience. Even more so, she knows Isaac has Capria within his chambers, why not stick the knife in a little deeper? Had Isaac not interfered during the festival the Baron would’ve been hers.  
  
“And the Baron cuts a fine figure,” Bella whispers loudly so Isaac can hear. “Your children would be beautiful. With your bright eyes and Jackson‘s golden hair, society will be besides themselves.”  
  
That sends the young Sophia tittering and her mother casts an indulgent, affectionate laden  look their way, frosty eyes melting in the face of her daughter’s obvious enjoyment.  
  
“You there, “ The duchess points a finger at Bella. “Attend my daughter for the duration of the stay, see her well amused while her intended is otherwise taken.”  
  
“Oh! Can she, Mama?” Sophia all but bounces in her seat. “I simply _must_ know all there is to know of  Jackson, and I would have my sources be knowledgeable.”  
  
“I am willing to answer any questions you may have.” Bella bows her head, eyes dropping to the fine jewelry the child wears so carelessly. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
Last night’s dinner had made things perfectly clear. There’s no denying what he’s seen, Jackson basking in the attention of his friends, his family….ignoring him; treating him as nothing but a servant.  
  
You _are_ nothing but a servant, a mean voice inside of his head chastises.  
  
Another heartbreak, and Isaac wishes he could wish himself into non existence because he still cares about Jackson, knows he won’t be able to sleep until he and Derek return safely.  
  
When the sun sets and all is cloaked in shadows,  Isaac slips out of the castle and heads down to the village, taking the path seldom traveled. Once he reaches the clearing, he bypasses the crowd of huts and goes to the home on the outskirts. He knocks on the door of the small cottage and, June, Eliza’s grand daughter answers with a sunny smile to chase away the cold from the falling snow.  
  
“Grandmother is in the back room,” June squeezes his elbow in hello. “Go right on in, she‘s been expecting you.”  
  
“ My little Isaac, I didn‘t expect you back so soon.” The old woman is already turning away when Isaac steps inside, fingers skimming over several glass jars. “More Capria?”  
  
Isaac has put this off as long as possible but seeing Lady Sophia has put everything into prospective. Jackson is a man of pretty words, but actions show that he hasn’t changed. He will always be the spoilt child, chasing the adoration of others; more wealth, more power and prestige. Isaac can offer none of that.  
  
As it is he cannot even provide for his defenseless cub. An unmated, pregnant omega was always expelled from the pack. And Isaac’s not an idiot, he knows  Derek would  defy law and tradition for him, but  to what end? More dishonor and disgrace on their name, and others would see him cast out eventually.  
  
There is no other choice, he has not the resources to  raise the cub alone, to brave freezing temperatures, sparse game and lack of cover.  
  
Isaac forces himself not to turn away from the decision he‘s made. “ I’m actually…” He takes a deep breath, “ I’m after Pennyroyal  and m-mugwort.”  
  
Eliza’s hands still,  “Surely you don’t--”  
  
“I have no other recourse.”  
  
Sadness fill her pale eyes, “ It’s most effective as tea, drank hot. I have the fresh and dried,  add a tablespoon of brewers yeast to  the final brew.”  
  
The tiny pouch feels heavy in his hands. “How much?”  
  
She shakes her head,  “I would not receive payment for such heavy task.”  
  
An hour later, Isaac has completed all of his tasks and has retreated to his room, small pot lit over the fire as the water begins to boil. His hand is shaking so badly he drops the small bag of herbs and then proceeds to kick the damn thing to the corner of the bed when he reaches for it blindly.  
  
Isaac gets down on his hands and knees to reach for it and pauses. Something reflects back at him, and Isaac pulls out a delicate chain. It’s clearly fine quality, jewels bright and polished.  
  
There’s no one else this could belong to, other than _him_.  
  
Isaac drops the chain to the bed, stares down at it as the cub’s rhythmic heartbeat rises in his ears.  
  
Jackson had just given him another option.  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
Pain snaps Derek back into consciousness, and when he comes to he finds himself bound by rope, each wrist secured to the thick branches of an oak. He’s stripped to his waist, wounds cracked and bleeding but he’s alive.  
  
Derek’s almost grateful for that until he catches sight of auburn, sees the eyes he dreamt of gouging out numerous times come into focus before his own.  
  
“Kate.”  
  
She smiles, “Hello, Derek.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Ho! 
> 
> For those of you who are reading the Edited To Add series, i will be continuing but i am extremely busy between, class and work, my time for writing is VERY limited. 
> 
> So i decided to focus on one story at a time, and as this is a multi-chapter, I decided to finish this first.
> 
> many thanks,  
> xC

***Stiles***  
  
The group of men have ridden hard for the past three days, traveling deep into the black forest, avoiding all known paths and roads during the day so as not to be seen by scouts well placed upon the craggy bluffs. Only when the light of the moon is entirely eclipsed do they halt and seek rest. They cannot risk lighting a fire, and without it, the nights are cold, temperatures dropping and driving every man to shift into their Were forms.    
  
While those around him slumber, Stiles lays awake, staring at the thin slivers of light dancing over the thinning ice. Earlier, his father and brothers had come to his side, offering their body heat but Stiles had moved away, seeking solitude. He doesn’t deserve any comfort.  
  
More than the cold, Stiles hates the silence, his guilt rings loudly in his ears. _He’d_ been the one to urge Derek to leave the safety of his castle.  He hadn’t spared a thought for his mate, had been driven only by his own immature desires. Derek is in danger because of _his_ selfish wishes; Derek could be-- Stiles can not bear to even finish the thought. A pitiful whimper escapes Stiles, and he buries his face in his paws.  
  
Ignoring his obvious need for seclusion, Jackson lumbers forward, leaving his father’s side.  
  
 _He will get through this._ Jackson’s cold nose nudges his. _I know it._  
  
Stiles turns away, conveying his own thoughts telepathically in kind. _You know nothing._  
  
 _I know, Derek, and he’s too stubborn to die._  
  
The wind blows harder and Stiles shivers. In response, Jackson lays down in front of him, bigger body insulating him from the brunt of the chill.  
  
In a fit of spitefulness, Stiles tries to move over but, his brother’s sharp teeth catch at the nape of his neck. _Stay_.  
  
Stiles growls, _I am not Cloud to be ordered about._  
  
 _Then cease behaving like a pup and I would not treat you as such. You are cold, stay behind me._  
  
 _I don’t deserve it._  
  
 _You  do._  
  
 _Derek--_  
  
 _Would want you safe and warm._  
  
 _You do not understand…I told him to go._  
  
 _I know._ Jackson’s voice reaches him quietly,   _but he **chose** to go; for **you**.  He wanted to make you happy. That is what one does for the person they love._  
  
Love.  
  
Stiles has ruined any chance of that now with this mistake.  
  
 Jackson must  read his thoughts. _Stop questioning yourself._  
  
 _You think he loves me?_  
  
 _I know the signs of a man besotted._  
  
 _Really?_  
  
 _A snake knows the routes of a serpent well._  
  
Stiles snorts. _You sound like Isaac._  
  
 _Perhaps it’s because._   Jackson is subdued.  _His voice is on my tongue because I love him._  
  
Stiles isn’t sure why Jackson delivers the words as he does, tentatively and hushed,  as if he expects Stiles to be shocked or outraged. But Stiles is neither, in fact he’s not even surprised. He’s happy and when he says so Jackson blows out a sigh of relief, breath fanning out in a white cloud.  
  
 _You’re the first person I’ve admitted that to._  
  
 _You haven’t told Isaac?_  
  
 _I have but my words were not well received._  
  
Looking over at his father, Stiles feels sympathy for him. Jackson is strong, has always been such, but he‘s also been the epitome of class and style; which is what their father expects. He‘s never gone against their father’s wishes simply because they always aligned with his own.  
  
 _Father will not be happy._  
  
Following his gaze, Jackson tenses.  _I begin to understand what drove you the night you ran North._

  
As much as Stiles’ has faced, for all his faults, Derek is still a man of similar rank and title. Isaac, however, is not only a commoner but a low born one at that.  Stiles isn’t certain, but he knows the terms of his grandfather’s will, and he’s positive that Jackson’s mating has been decided even before he’d been born. To defy those wishes would strip him of everything.  
  
 _It’s a difficult choice._ Stiles finally says. _I want you to be happy._  
  
Instead of answering, Jackson’s head comes down over his, draws him to his underbelly in a way he hasn’t done since Stiles was a child. The comfort in the gesture is enormous, and miraculously after  a few moment Stiles eyes grow heavy before they fall closed in much needed slumber.  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
Derek is grateful for the pain of the wolfs bane. He needs it to ground him, to keep him sane and act as an anchor because she‘s there.  A girl who misled him, made him believe she loved him only to slaughter his kin. After years, Kate is standing in front of him, eyes smug and blood of his family on her hands. and he can do nothing. He’s completely at her mercy.  
  
“You seem frustrated, Derek.” Kate coos, clearly delighted with the power she wields. Her group of cowards chuckle behind her. Derek makes sure to catalogue the faces of each one; he will see them dead. “All of this will make sense very soon.”  
  
“I’ve no need of explanation.” Derek grates, “I’ve seen this act before. You took advantage of a weak man and lured my men to he road. A coward’s tactic, right in line with the name Argent.”  
  
One of the men step forward at the insult-- so bold now that Derek is restrained-- but Kate stops him. “I’m going to enjoy slicing you down to size, Derek; piece by piece.”  
  
The words do not instill fear in him, they make him angry. “A fate well deserved for ever placing myself between your diseased thighs.”  
  
This time Kate does lash out, blade slashing deep over his chest and curving over his nipple. Blood trickles down his abdomen, warm and real but Derek refuses to give her the satisfaction of a sound, it’s what she wants.  
  
Kate laughs into his face, “ Oh this will be fun, let us see how long your silence shall remain. But first, there‘s the small mater of your accomplice. Allison, come.”  
  
Appearing from behind the oldest man, the girl comes forward, black dress stained with mud, face pale and eyes wild.  It is clear she’s not within her right mind, and Kate has taken advantage. There’s a small hunting knife clenched in her shaking hands.  
  
“This man, a lowly beast, organized a raid upon the Southern shores.” Kate rips the burlap hood off of Scott’s head, and Derek can see the boy is unconscious, large bruise over his temple. “Scott McCall, a werewolf hat you once stupidly called husband.”  
  
“Kate.” Allison’s voice shakes, “You s-said he had fallen--”  
  
“I said he _will_ fall.” Kate corrects, addressing he room at large. “By your own hand.”  
  
The announcement is met with cheers of encouragement and Derek cannot believe these men, who re about to slaughter a defenseless man, think his kind animals.  
  
Allison looks around the room, frantic. “I c-can’t--”  
  
“He murdered your mother.” The older man yells, “Your _mother_ , Allison.”  
  
“You never said--”  
   
“Do not be weak! You’re  an Argent.” Kate pushes her forward roughly, uncaring when she stumbles. “If you can not do it because it is the right thing, do it for your family's honor.”  
  
As she speaks, Scott’s eyes flutter open and Derek wishes the boy had remained unawares. His swollen eyes blink rapidly against the light and then his entire body jerks upon full recognition, no doubt with the unexpected pain of the wolfs bane.  
  
“Allison.” Scott’s voice cracks incredulously. “What…what is happening?” The girl falters, arm dropping to her side and Scott’s eyes fall to the weapon. He begins to struggle in earnest. “Untie me, what is happening? Why are you--”  
  
“Silence, animal.” Kate hisses. “You are being held to answer for your crimes.”  
  
“Crimes?” Scott’s eyes go wide. “I haven’t--”  
  
“Do you yet remain blind to your bitch’s intentions?” Frustration makes Derek speak out. “She was _never_ arrested; _never_ bound for the Tower--all of this was a rouse to capture me.”  
  
“Not just you.” Kate chides triumphantly, “I welcome the opportunity to slaughter your kind, and you have not failed me. I find you the same fool of months past, still thinking with your emotions. Rest assured I shall end your misery swiftly after I’ve had my fun.” She nudges the girl who hasn’t looked away from Scott once, there are tears in her glassy eyes now. “Allison.”  
  
“You k-killed my mother.” Allison whispers eyes firmly fixed on Scott‘s chest, voice hoarse. “I place my t-trust in you and you allow your king to ambush my family! You repay my loyalty with blood. Her voice is rising. “You deserve to die.”  
  
“I did not! You know I did not! We both received the news of her passing together I would not have been involved. Those who massacred women and children were not Weres but human--”  
  
“Stop lying!” Allison screams cutting of his pleas. “ All of you…“She brandishes the sword in Derek’s direction. “Y-you _things_ lie! My father told me what you did, what you where a part of.”  
  
“Allison, _please_ , I don’t know what has been said but--” Scott breaks off on a pained gasp, breath punching out in one swift burst.  
  
The hilt of the knife protrudes from Scott’s abdomen, blade buried deep within him.  
  
“H…how. Allison.”  
  
Derek wishes he could close his eyes when Allison’s hand settles over the  blade once more, draws it out only to stab it back in. Shock having deserted him, Scott begins to scream, body twisting away and veins bulging as Silver enters his blood stream and his Were rebels.  
  
By the fifth stab, Allison’s hands no longer shake, her movements are slow,  deliberate and sadistic.  Derek knows the boy will not go easy. He looks away.  
  
“Watch every moment.” Kate grips Derek’s chin brutally, twists his head back to the horrific scene. The humans are now shouting, laughing as Scott‘s blood wets the floor. “Your time approaches quickly.”  
  
Derek meets her gaze levelly, thinks of the way Stiles eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the slight indent of his chin and the way he held him when he saw him last. “I do not fear death.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Upon the sighting of an approaching rider near dusk, the entire camp is on guard. The rider is recklessly crashing through the thick undergrowth,  pushing his labored horse. He’s injured, the smell of blood and battle upon him. The men draw their swords, his father’s archers go at the ready as he comes into view.  
  
“Halt!”  
  
The command is ignored and the man continues on with renewed purpose.  
  
John curses beneath his breath, “Archers--”  
  
“Stand down.” Stiles interjects when he recognizes the green and black coat of arms-- Derek’s coat of arms. “It’s Derek’s second in command.”  
  
None of the men move, and Mathew turns to him speculatively, “You know this man?”  
  
“I do.” Stiles pushes past the first line, shouldering his way to the front. Miles sways, slumping over on the worn horse and falling heavily forward. Stiles catches the brunt of his weight, stumbles before one of his father’s men lift the man down and drop him to the dirt. “Miles?”  
  
Blood is soaking through his armor and clothes to run over the earth. A man with injuries such as these should not be alive, much less speaking, but Miles is. His  eyes are wild and mouth babbling words Stiles can not understand but there is one word he does understand, a name that confirms his worst fears.  
  
“Kate.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Adrenaline incites recklessness and Stiles is knows this well, but he finds himself wishing they would overtake the derelict manor immediately, storm the crumbling walls and kill every human within. The men are accustomed to war, and let Stiles know it, his requests fall on deaf ears. Every moment that passes to strategy and design, is another moment Derek is alone with that bitch.  
  
Finally, Matthew returns from canvassing the manor and after they break words, his father gives signal to advance, and the men do so with stealth Stiles only honed through battle. As cautiously as he can, Stiles follows when Jackson motions him forward. The lock on the back gates has broken with by Matthews sword, rusted metal tossed to the ground.  
  
There’s one human standing against the back wall, smoking pipe lighting the air around him. Soundlessly, the men creep forward, swords and daggers drawn. The commander steps forward and by chance the human looks up. He goes completely still when he sees them, blinks rapidly as if he doubts his own eyes.  
  
The man gets half a scream out before Matthew buries a dagger in his throat with a vicious overhand throw but it is still enough to bring the castle’s occupants down around them. Several humans come from the foyer, others jump down from the wall, weapons deadly. This is unlike sparring, even he Lamarcks had been few in number. Stiles struggles to keep position, must utilize every skill he’s learned to hold ground. Two men attack from his left, drawing blood and Stiles jumps back, plunges his knife into one’s belly just as Mathew drives his sword though the heart of the man poised at his back.

  
Stiles barely manages a thanks before another sets upon him and Matthew thrusts him away with strict instructions to guard his flank. Men and Were alike are falling around him, and the courtyard runs red.  
  
In the midst of all the carnage, Stiles catches movement at the back stairwell; a woman. As quickly as she appears she vanishes and  Stiles knows wherever she is going Derek must be.  Dodging blows, Stiles runs the first opportunity he’s given, ignoring Jackson’s frantic curses behind him. Stiles doesn’t stop once he gets to the stairwell. It leads down into a dark room, nothing to light the way. Stiles pushes his omega to the surfaces, triggers his Were vision to supplement.  
  
The room below is filthy, crowded with rusted cans and debris littering the floor. He can smell Derek below, the bound between them vibrating as he scents his mate.  
  
Stiles stops short when his foot strikes something solid.  
  
Before Stiles can look down however, Jackson appears at his back, steers him away. “Do not look.”  
  
And of course Stiles does.  
  
Scott lays at his feet, eyes fixed to the ceiling in sightless gaze.  A cry wells up within Stiles’ chest to see his friend so. His grief is broken by the shouts of soldiers. Four men run  into the room, swords drawn  
  
“Attend to the matter at hand.” Jackson pushes him further within the dark room, stepping in front of him to battle the armed men. “Quickly, I‘ll hold them off.”  
  
In the back of the room, Derek is strapped to the table, stripped to the waist and bleeding from a multitude of thin slashes littering his body. Tears the back of his lids, there isn’t a part of Derek that remains unscathed. Although his eyes are open, they’re vacant; unseeing. Hands shaking Stiles reaches to untie the rope, only to jerk back reflexively when silver stings harshly and cuts his fingers tips.  
  
No matter how much it hurts, Stiles pushes past the pain, works the knots loose even when blood make his hand slip; he has to get Derek free.  
  
“ _Stiles_! Watch out!”  
  
At Jackson’s warning shout, Stiles turns around only to narrowly avoid  the wide arc of a sword swinging over his neck.    
  
The wielder is a woman,  dressed in garb traditional to men, and she’d nearly beheaded him.  
  
“Kate.”  
  
“The one and only.” The sword comes for him again and Stiles moves swiftly to the left, avoiding the attack. “It appears my name precedes me.”  
  
The nonchalance of her voice--the smell of Derek’s blood on her--makes Stiles see red. Unthinking he charges, sword cutting through the air repeatedly.  
  
They stand in one place, trading feints, thrusts and parries with lightning speed. Kate has no trouble matching him; the bitch is clearly skilled and she gives as good as she takes, knocking him back.  For several moments the clash of steel is the only sound within the room, and Stiles can hear Derek’s labored breaths loudly in his ears. His desperation weakens his defense and the flat of Kate’s sword slams against his wrist, knocking his sword to the ground, leaving him without recourse.  
  
The glint of her steel rises above him, and Stiles is certain he‘s for the afterlife when Jackson barrels into her, knocking her to the ground.  She rolls back unto her feet, hands closing around the sword she just knocked from Stiles’ hand.  
  
Kate moves quicker than any human should be able to, and suddenly Jackson staggers, hands going to his abdomen. An inhuman cry tears from Stiles’ mouth as he watches his brother look down at his blood in bewilderment. He hadn’t even seen the blow.  
  
Rage forces an involuntary shift and Stiles howls as the changes rips through him, skin yielding to short bristle fur and bone. Stiles gives Kate no time to adjust, bares his canines and goes for her white throat. She struggles but he fall has left the wind knocked out of her and she’s wheezing even as he forces his entire weight down on her chest.  
  
A look of utter shock crosses Kate’s face, and they both realize she’s well and truly down. Stiles increases the pressure at his forepaws at her throat, hears her gurgled  gasps of pain as his claws shred her thin skin and blood bubbles over her lips to stain them red.  
  
Stiles takes a moment to bask in her defeat before he rips out her throat.  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
When they make camp for the night, Jackson willingly provides his horse blanket to soften Derek’s  sickbed. The man is unable to shift , weakened as he is and has passed most of the journey weaving in and out consciousness, fever high as the poison runs it’s course with the aid of pulverized Jaloepan; an herb known to flush the wolfs bane out of a Were. Jackson was fortunate enough to find some of the plant nearby.  
  
The wound Jackson had sustained is not nearly as terrible as he initially thought and he remains functional which is essential now that they’re transporting prisoners. There are two dozen humans chained together, Allison is  bound by both her hands and feet. Jackson cannot look at her, not since they placed Scott’s mutilated body upon the pyre.  
  
With the humans disarmed, many of the men are light hearted, gathering around the fire to trade tales and boast of the glory they will receive for capturing the most wanted criminal of the King.  
  
Stiles and Derek do not partake of the festivities and all have left them on their own, turning their backs to offer privacy but Jackson find his eyes drifting to their small nest often.  Derek’s head is pillowed in Stiles’ lap, and his brother strokes the man’s brow with a reverence that makes his eyes sting.  
  
Jackson wants that; to love and be loved. Because as much as Stiles doubt his mates’ feelings, it’s clear to Jackson that Derek does love him; the affection is clear on his face every time his gaze falls to Stiles.  
  
“I will escort the body to the King.“ John says, as he turns the rabbit on the spit roast.  “We‘ll part ways when we reach the Adriatic.”  
  
Jackson stiffens at the word we. “I cannot accompany you.”  
  
“Of course you will.” John dismisses. “There is no reason for your prompt return, the Beauforts will understand--”  
  
“It is not about them.”  
  
John frowns, begins to cut off sizzling pieces of meat unto his plate. “Why else would you wish to return?”  
  
“Father,” Jackson clears his throat nervously, shaking his head a the offer of food. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about my betrothal.”  
  
“Do not.”  
  
“You haven’t even--”  
  
“What ever nonsense you are about to speak, put such thoughts from your mind.“ John’s voice is brisk; dismissive. “I was young once Jack, I know that you may think you feel but it will pass. It‘s always a daunting task to be faced with your mating.”  
  
“You don’t even know of whom I speak--”  
  
“Servants gossip, Jackson, and apparently you weren’t very discrete, your dalliance is well known to me.”  
  
“It is much more than that, I love Isaac--”  
  
“Return to your fiancée,” John stands to his feet and Jackson nearly hates him for the dismissal. “ And when I arrive--with the king’s gratitude-- we’ll go back to the capitol; together.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
When Derek wakes to the scent of wildflowers, soft sheets and goose down, he thinks he’s hallucinating; either that or he’s passed on to the afterlife. But when he hears Stiles humming to himself, feels the soft, soothing drag of a warm rag over his stinging chest, Derek knows he’s not dreaming. Reflexively, Derek reaches up to still the source of discomfort.  
  
“Derek? You’re awake!”  
  
With Herculean effort, Derek opens his eyes and finds Stiles smiling tentatively down at him, hand still upon his chest. “Have I not had enough torture for a lifetime?”  
  
“It’s but disinfectant,” Stiles assures mile growing. “Jackson says--”  
  
“Proof the mixture is crafted by the devil’s hand, and meant to inflict pain.”  
  
Stiles shakes his head but drops the rag back into a wooden bowl near the bedside. “ I’m glad you’re once again among the land of the living, its been nearly a week. I…I thought. I‘d thought you gone from this world once Miles gave word that you were within the bitch‘s clutches.”  
  
“Kate…” Memories assault him and Derek shakes his head to clear it, “She is dead?”  
  
“By my own hand.”  
  
There’s  a mixture of smug satisfaction in the words and Derek finds himself smiling in return despite the lingering pain. “The kingdom is indebted to you.”  
  
“The kingdom is indebted to you.” Stiles corrects, face serious far too serious “ I only wish we had reached before she could take her knife to you.”  
  
Dozens of lacerations cover his chest and Derek knows his back is in much the same position. “There appearance may be permanent but they will provide no lasting discomfort. I care not for vanity, as long as my scars do not repulse you.”  
  
At his words, Stiles eyes fill with tears. “This was all my fault; had I not convinced you to go to the king, had I not played directly into here hands--“  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“You knew something was strange, and you’re instincts told you--wait, what?” Stiles mouth drops open in amazement and Derek feels a twinge of guilt. His love shouldn‘t be so shocking to his mate; it should’ve been apparent, always. “Did you? You just… you said you loved me.”  
  
“I did.” Derek admits freely; life is far too short, their time too fleeting, to spend it hiding. “I do love you; have for quite some time.”  
  
Stiles is flushed dark red, “ Is this a side effect of the medication Jackson has given you?”  
  
“I am of sound mind.” Derek touches his face gently, “And I would appreciate the words in return. Should you…“ A stab of doubt runs through him. “Should you feel the same.”  
  
Stiles stares at him unblinking for several moments before he dissolves into laughter.  
  
“What do you find so amusing?”  
  
“Derek, _of course_ I love you in return, even the scullery maids know of my feelings for you.” Stiles lays down near his side, close enough that Derek can count the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. “I’m not the most subtle if you haven’t noticed.”  
  
Derek hears Stiles’ heart beat faster, feels the responding tempo of Stiles. This connection transcends the lingering pain.  
  
“I hope this is real.” Stiles whispers and Derek  can feel Stiles’  breath tingle across his lips. “What is this?  
  
“It’s us?” Derek ignores the pain and shifts lower, brushes his mouth over Stiles’ once to calm him. “It’s always been us.”  
  
It astounds Derek,  how precious another person has become to him. He’s afraid to even breathe, doesn’t want to do anything to disrupt the moment.  This closeness is everything Derek had been terrified of, and it’s all he needs.  
  
More than anything Derek wants Stiles to always look at him this way, as if he hangs the moon in the very night sky and walks upon the stars. He wants to be a person who deserves such regard, even if he is no longer wealthy or whole.    
  
“You‘ve always scared me.” Derek admits lowly an Stiles makes a  sound of disbelief. “You have. I am not used to anyone wanting me for just me. I told myself it was a phase, that you would come to regret your decision but you’ve proven me wrong. “Derek tilts his chin, makes Stiles meet his eyes. “Seeing you with my people, how you love and take care of them, your personality…it’s incredible, Stiles.”  
  
“You…” Stiles smiles, a slow sure creep of the lips that Derek know he will remember when he’s old and grey. “You are now well and truly stuck with me.”  
  
 ***Adam***  
  
There are very few things that give Adam pause in life, primarily because there isn’t much that he hasn’t seen. But this, this is too bloody good to keep quiet about.  
  
Isaac is staring at him expectantly, completely oblivious to his fascination and more than a little impatient, “Well?”  
  
“Should I bother asking you where exactly you came by a piece such as this?”  
  
“No.”  Isaac sits down next to him, bumps his shoulder. “I just need you to tell me how much it will fetch on the open market.”  
  
Adam‘s never seen anything so exquisite, the jewels hands crafted and large, each one catching light at the most perfect angles. “Several hundred pounds at the very least.”  
  
Isaac smiles brightly at that, “That’s more than enough to buy a plot of land or--”  
  
“Land without a Lord or without an alpha?”  
  
“Not in Scotland, I‘d need neither.”  
  
“You would venture so far from your home? Why?”  
  
“That’s none of your business.”  
  
“It is if you expect me to sell the Baron’s jewelry and risk my neck.”  
  
“The necklace is mine.”  
  
“Did he. He gave it to you?”  
  
“No.” Isaac gives a self depreciating laugh, “I earned it in the old fashioned way.”  
  
“So you just took it? This would be considered theft.”  
  
“And since when do such matters  concern you, a bandit?” Isaac scowls. “Where were your morals when you raided carriages day and night?”  
  
“We speak of you.” Adam counters, “Now what the hell is going on? What is so bloody urgent that you’re willing to leave your home?”  
  
The standoff lasts for several long seconds, Isaac’s pale and panting angrily before he drops his eyes to the floor.  
  
“I carry the Baron‘s child.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Upon returning to the North, they’d been met with much fanfare, all of the villagers lined along the way to watch Derek be carried through into the castle. Seeing that the Duke was alive had made the crowds rejoice. Through the scent of blood and sweat, Jackson searched for the scent irrevocably tied to his own, but Isaac had not been among the revilers. As they brought Derek’s gurney up the steps, the Beauforts had descended, clad in velvet finery and white fur. Sophia ran down to meet him, brimming with excitement only a child would find in war. Jackson had accepted her hug reluctantly, before swiftly moving the girl aside, only to find Isaac standing in the entryway.  
  
That memory alone, even two days later, leaves Jackson frustrated. Isaac has avoided him for days.  
  
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and Jackson sits up in his bed. “You may enter.”  
  
Isaac crosses the threshold, a small dinner tray held in his hands.  He carefully avoids eye contact, sets the tray of soup and warm crusty bread on the night table.  
  
“I did not ask for you to bring me supper.”  
  
Isaac stiffens, “Bella said you requested--”  
  
“I requested _you_.” Jackson elaborates. “Because I wanted to see you. I have had not opportunity in the past days. I‘ve missed you.”  
  
“I’m not here of my own volition, I was summoned and I obeyed.”  
  
“I had hoped it was more.”  
  
Isaac’s eyes fall to his heavily bandaged chest.  “You’re bleeding.”  
  
“The bitch didn’t go down easy, but these are mere superficial wounds.” Jackson attempts jest, breath sucking in when Isaac draws closer. “It is the silver that yet draws so much blood.”  
  
“Does it pain you?”  
  
“The Jaloepan eases the way. Derek is far worse.” Jackson watches Isaac’s hand reach out, his fingers brush over the white bandages’ edge.  “I will survive to haunt these halls another day.”  
  
Isaac doesn‘t smile, eyes still fixated to his stomach. “You will carry a scar.”  
  
“Well worth the cost of my vanity. I was able to witness Kate bleed out unto the floor. She caused us all much loss… including you. Your grandfather’s death has been avenged, I hope that offers some comfort.”  
  
The words are met with  luminous gaze and Jackson never wants to see him cry again.  
  
Isaac whispers, “Thank you.”  
  
“I wish that I could have been the one to end her life, for you. ” Tentatively, Jackson puts his hands over Isaac’s where it lays on the bedspread. “And how did you fare in my absence? You appear anxious. Has Brighton been bothering you?”  
  
“Why does it matter?” Isaac rises, expression shuttered “Weren’t you the one who stood idle when he all but set me on my back?”  
  
“I couldn’t speak even though I wanted to rip his throat open with my teeth but had I done so, I wouldn’t have been able to  break my betr--”  
  
“It’s not your responsibility to speak on my behalf.”  
  
“No! You’re not listening to me, Isaac. I only meant that I must tread lightly for now but I have a plan for us. Once I break my betrothal we’ll--”  
  
“Stop lying.” Isaac snaps. “I won’t return to your bed.”  
  
“That’s not what I was saying,” There is no man as infuriating as Isaac. “I’m--”  
  
“Good night, Jackson, do not summon me again.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
 As bad as Derek looks, he appears to be in high spirits when Isaac comes in, waving him over with a wide smile. Isaac cannot recall the lat time he’s seen Derek so happy.  
  
“You should really stop getting captured.”  
  
Derek scowls weakly, “ Apparently I have a knack for it.”  
  
They both laugh and Isaac sits at the edge of the bed to hug him. “You cheat death at every opportunity.”  
  
“Let us pray that my opportunities have come to an end.” Derek eases back against the pillows. “There is no part of me that remains unscathed.”  
  
Isaac’s stomach twists, “ What did she do to you?”  
  
“Nothing that I did not survive.”  
  
“Stiles says she cut nearly every part of you.”  
  
“Wounds heal.” Derek replies grimly. “Severed heads do not.”  
  
“So Kate truly is dead then?”  
  
“Stiles saw to her end. John carries her head to the King as we speak.”  
  
“Jackson had said, but to hear it from your own lips.” Isaac can feel emotion prick at his eyes and struggles to reign it in. “It’s finally come to an end.”  
  
“It has,” Derek replies, hand coming to the back of Isaac’s head in a reassuring squeeze. “They’re resting in peace now.”  
  
“Your family would be very proud of you.”  
  
“And yours of you.”  
  
Family.  
  
The word remind Isaac of the secret he carries and he’s not sure his grandfather would be proud of him, of the decisions he’s made.  Absent thought, he shakes his head in disagreement.  
  
“None of that,” Derek catches his chin, forces his face up. “ Your grandfather  was one of the strongest and smartest betas I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and you were his pride and life. No matter your choices, he would hold you in esteem because you are intelligent and self sufficient.”  
  
“But you …” Isaac swallows hard. “You don’t know.”  
  
“Regardless of what ever it is you feel is unforgivable, Asa would only wish you to be happy with whomever you chose, how ever you chose.”  
  
Isaac knows Derek thinks he’s worried about carrying on an affair with Jackson, but it’s much more than that. In a week he’ll be leaving the only home he’s ever known; losing his best friend and embarking on his own.  
  
There will never be a right time to say goodbye to Derek, so Isaac chooses now.

  
“I love you, Derek.”  
  
Derek chuckles, ruffles his hair. “I assured you my wounds aren’t fatal.”  
  
“I know, I simply needed to say it.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
While Derek’s healing, Stiles is thrust into the role of Duke, assigning tasks, manning repair stations and keeping the castle afloat. Besides, Stiles likes to keep busy, Scott’s death weighs heavily upon him and he feels the loss of his friend like a limb. Scott’s mistake had been loving Allison so deeply, enough to die by her hand.  
  
All of the tasks that Stiles had doubted his ability to handle are now solely his own and stile surprises himself with how quickly he’s learning. The extra work leaves him tired  and worn by sundown, but it’s well worth it when the people come to him with their concerns and no longer demand to speak with Derek.  
  
And Derek has told Stiles he loves him; not just that first night but for every night since he’s awaken because Stiles has insisted it’s a sentiment he needs to hear daily. Despite his customary scowl, Derek  obliges him and for the first time Stiles feels as if he’s living the life he dreamt of as a child, when he’d written down a promise to make Derek his own.  
  
Stiles doesn’t think he can get happier until he does.  
  
A week after Kate’s death, Stiles awakens in the night, a foreign noise loud in his ears. Beside him Derek continues to slumber. His confusion gives way to understanding in a moment. Stiles sucks in a breath of surprise and awe, hand sliding to his stomach.  
  
“Derek!” Stiles means to shout his mate’s name but his voice is  but a whisper. “Derek,” His voice is a bit stronger this time, shaking Derek a bit. “ Do you hear that?”  
  
“Arg.” Derek rolls away from him,  burying his face in his pillow. “Go to sleep.”  
  
“Derek.” Stile shakes him once more him. “I’m trying--”  
  
“Stiles, sleep, man recovering from silver here.”  
  
“Fine.” Stiles presses against his back, drops a kiss to his shoulder. “I guess my news can wait… however, I can’t sleep.”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“I can’t sleep because I can hear another’s heartbeat within.”  
  
That gets Derek’s attention, and he goes absolutely still. “What?”  
  
“Vox corde.” The first awareness of Stiles’ cub or cubs. Stiles feels as if he may burst with happiness. “Derek, I’m with child.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
Since he was a pup, Stiles has always wanted others to share in each and every joy of his life. So it’s no surprise that he let’s the news slip about an hour past leaving his chamber much to Derek‘s amusement. They’d agreed to wait.  
  
The news is met with resounding cheers and applause from their dinner guests. Derek makes his first appearance since he arrived, sitting at the table next to Stiles as the people give their blessing. It’s just what the castle needs.  
  
“I’m so happy for you.” Lydia congratulates after Stiles turns away from another well wisher. “I can finally try my hand on paternity garments,” She pauses, “You do plan on remaining in human form for the duration of your pregnancy, right?”  
  
“Of course.” Stiles shudders, “Anything to delay the inevitable.”  
  
“I’ll be there with you the entire way.” Derek comes up behind him, hand going to his waist. Stiles thinks it’s adorable how Derek has already begun to touch his stomach, even though it’s non existent as of yet. “Many thanks for the well wishes.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
That night is dedicated to celebration, bottle after bottle of wine is  poured and all are in high spirits. The impending arrival of an heir is cause to celebrate. All are complimenting Stiles, saying how healthy he looks, how becoming the bloom of his cheeks are. The Beauforts are in high spirits as well, especially Lady Sophia. She looks at Jackson with stars in her eyes, and constantly speaks of her own children.  
  
Beneath the table Isaac’s hand covers the flat planes of his stomach. There will be no congratulations for him and his cub, his announcement would be met with horror. A bastard is never celebrated, but Isaac will be enough, both alpha and omega, for his child, regardless of the way the world will treat them.  
  
As soon as propriety  allows, Isaac excuses himself  and slips up the back staircase. His room is quiet, darkness obliterating everything. The saddlebag he’s hidden away in his trunk is full, and no matter how much he tries there’s just no way he can take any of his grandfather’s books. The loss is staggering but Isaac has no choice.  
  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Jackson times his meeting with the Beauforts strategically, plies them with spirits and soft words until their guard is completely lowered.  He’s acted the perfect mate for the past few weeks, attending the child and engaging the boorish Brighton and his equally coarse companions. None can doubt Jackson’s intentions, and that’s exactly what he needs.  
  
“I‘d like to discuss some new developments with you.” Jackson says in the middle of afternoon tea. “I’ve forfeited my claim to Wisteria, and as the former physician has taken ill, I will become the permanent physician here.”  
  
“What?” Lady Beaufort squawks, hand clutching her husbands. “Marcus!“ She turns to her husband. “Do something!”  
  
Marcus looks just as appalled. “In the North?”  
  
“In the North.” Jackson repeats calmly, he‘s rather enjoying the panic on all of their faces. “ Come spring, I’d build a cottage in the village and  practice daily.”  
  
“A cottage!” Sophia squeals. “ I cannot live in a  cottage.”  
  
“It’d be small,” Jackson forces his tone to drip sincerity, “ But it will be comfortable and we’ll have one another. That is all we‘ll really need.”  
  
Sophia looks green, “But we’d visit the capitol, right? We wouldn’t always be here.”  
  
“Of course not, darling.” Jackson gives his most charming smile and watches her eyes inflate with hope just before he dashes them. “We’d venture to the capitol once a year, for the winter solstice.”  
  
“Momma.” The girl looks frantic now. “I’d like to speak with you alone, please.”  
  
“May we have a moment?” Duke Beaufort asks but he doesn’t wait for a response before he excuses himself, his beta and daughter following close behind.  
  
Jackson is left in the parlor alone, and as the minutes lengthen his smile grows. He cannot break his betrothal but Lady Sophia can.  
  
Freedom.  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
When Isaac arrives at the packed wagon, Erica studies him with dark eyes, before shrugging. “We’re leaving anyway, one more added to our numbers is fine.”  
  
“I won’t be a bother or a burden.” Isaac promises. “I’ll be with you until the port and then I’m off on my own.”  
  
“And then you’re off with _me_.” Adam corrects and Erica swears. “I won’t leave you on your own.”  
  
“But you’d abandon your alpha?” Erica shouts, “I won’t let you.”  
  
“You will, “ Adam replies quietly. “ For John.”  
  
Erica spits into the dirt directly in front of Adam‘s boots, before she stomps off. “It’s your fucking life.”  
  
“What the hell are you thinking?” Isaac rounds on him. “ I don’t need you to look after me!”  
  
“But I want to, I want to be there for you and the child.”  
  
“Are you mad?”  
  
“Perhaps.” The smile Adam gives him is laden with an emotion Isaac doesn’t want to  face.  
  
This is an added complication and Isaac feels overwhelmed and filled with sorrow. It would’ve been much easier had he fallen in love with Adam. But he hadn’t and he loves another; it will be his curse to always love Jackson.  
  
“Adam,“ Isaac chooses his words carefully as to not hurt his friend. “You know that I care for you, as a friend--”  
  
“I know, Isaac.” Adam interrupts him softly, hand falling over Isaac’s own. “And in time, my feelings will fade to match yours. But that doesn’t mean I do not want to accompany you, see you settled and know that you’re okay. I’ve lost all taste for this life when my brother fell before me, I‘d like to start anew; take the reward money and begin again. ”  
  
Tears cloud his vision and Isaac hugs Adam tightly; he didn't want to be alone. “T-thank you.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
The Beauforts rescind the betrothal before first light and Jackson has to suppress the urge to laugh and jump for joy. As soon as their gilded wagons depart,  Jackson tears through the halls to the servant‘s quarters, feeling lighter than he has in his entire life.  
  
“Isaac, I…” All words die on his tongue when Jackson finds the bedchamber empty. Not only so, but the linens have been stripped from the bed, all items of personal value are gone. All that remains are the volumes of Isaac’s grandfather, things too heavy to take if one was traveling.  
  
Jackson stumbles back, startled to find the servant girl behind him. “Where is he?”  
  
“Isaac left a day ago,” Bella replies, brow furrowed. “With Adam. Didn‘t you know?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the ending as promised! Thank you to those who waited patiently, and for those who offered encouragement as I went through a very difficult time in my life. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and yes, i know my Jisaac love is showing; i believe I've found a new OTP.
> 
> I will look over for mistakes later on, i just didn't want to keep you all waiting; feel free to point out mistakes to make my review easier!
> 
> thank you for reading!

***Derek***  
  
The happiness Derek had found remains even as the days blend into weeks and the ice thaws to reveal green hints of spring. The winter solstice, what had remained of it after Derek’s return, had been passed in high spirits. Now, Stiles is a constant presence, inhibition non-existent and mouth constantly running. He’s opened up completely again and Derek hates that he had been the reason his mate had been silent in the past. Only a year earlier, Derek had resigned himself to seclusion, accepted that he’d ruined his name and deserved the disgrace. Now, the ill fortune that’s plagued him since the war fades to insignificance. The King once more welcomes him, and his position has been restored.    
  
All would be perfect had it not been for  Isaac’s abrupt departure.  The boy had left without word, leaving naught but a few cursory lines hastily written on parchment with a scullery maid. Although Derek has no way of confirming it--the note had simply said he’d chosen to leave and seek a new life with Adam-- he knows that Jackson had a hand in it. Derek wishes he had tried harder to separate the two before things deteriorated to the point Isaac believed he could no longer remain in his own home. As it is, Jackson is still within his walls, still remains even in the face of Derek’s obvious anger. Had he been in better health, Derek would bring Jackson to his knees himself, drag him to Scotland and force him to apologize to the boy, make things right so Isaac would return.  
  
Anger makes Derek’s fists curl and with the action, pain laces up his forearm.  Derek growls in response and  Stiles makes a noise in his sleep.  While it is true the pain of the recent attack continues to rob him of rest, Derek embraces the lack of sleep; uses the time to focus on his mate who’s adorably curled against his side, nose scrunching periodically as he snores.  
  
There’s not a soul on earth who’s more stubborn than Stiles. Yet, Derek can’t find it in him too even pretend to be annoyed anymore,  that bull headed resolve is the reason why they’re together. Derek wants Stiles to be happy, wants to restore the castle and his peoples way of life. So,  as humbling as it is, Derek has decided  to make use of Stiles’ dowry to complete and extend repairs. All will be in good condition before their cub arrives.  
  
Derek grins up at the ceiling as he imagines the energetic little balls of fur tearing through the halls. Cece was a notorious little troublemaker, but she’d made life brighter in every way. No matter what she broke or what she lost, she’d just look up at  them with her big brown eyes and even Peter couldn’t stay angry. Thinking  of Cecelia still makes his chest ache but now Derek can remember and not feel driven to drink himself to oblivion. He can recall how she would build forts out of his bed pillows and sneak honey into his mead because Laura said it would give her sweet dreams and she wanted him to have the same. And her laugh, so bright and mischievous; its what Derek misses most.  
  
The castle walls will once again ring with a child’s laughter. Derek’s eyes fall to Stiles’ naked stomach, still concave and devoid of any physical sign that he’s carrying but Derek knows that his cub is in there, snug and safe.  
  
Derek touches the soft skin of Stiles’ belly, soaks in the warmth with his palm. At his touch, Stiles rolls away making a decidedly displeased grunt and turns over to present Derek with his back, taking most of the bedcovers with him.  
  
Grinning, Derek follows, lips finding the warm hollow where Stiles’  neck meets his shoulder. “It’s morning, lazy, wake up.”  
  
“Go away.” Stiles swats at Derek’s cheek when he kisses his sleep warm skin, pushing him away “ M’tired.”  
  
“ I regret to inform you that I can‘t stop touching you. You smell too good.” Derek noses at the base of his neck, inhales deeply.  His hand spreads lower on Stiles stomach, scratching at the fine dusting of hair at his pelvis. “A little bit of you and a whole lot of me.” In response Stiles stretches languidly, like a cat, pushes back against him but his eyes remain closed, dark lashes fanning out over his pale cheeks. “Stiles.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
 “Wake up; I want to fuck, I need to see you hanging off my knot, taking me deep inside.”  
  
Muffled laughter turns to a moan.  
  
“No sweeter poem has ever been spoken.” Stiles turns over unto his back, hazel eyes finally blinking open lazily to settle upon him. “I see love has transformed you into the romantic.”  
  
“I can give you romance.” Derek smiles down at him, palm cradling his cheek. “Flowered words kisses and honeyed kisses.”  
  
“You are truly a poet,” Stiles slides a hand over Derek’s cheek and leans  up to kiss his chin. “Go on...”  
  
“I could do all of those things…but I know you want something else, more than Lord Byron‘s sonnets, you want this.” Derek  rolls his hips down against the cradle of Stiles thighs, rubs his cock against Stiles’ hardening erection. “You want it hard and fast,” He scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin of Stiles neck and he shivers, “ Just a little wild.”  
  
“God, yes.” Stiles moans, tipping his neck back to give Derek better access.  “Please.”  
  
More than happy to oblige, Derek kisses down his neck to where Stiles has proven to be  extremely  sensitive. True to form, Stiles gives that breathy moan he loves  when his teeth scrape over his nipples and begs. When Stiles is shaking, Derek rolls them over once more, this time leaving Stiles on top.  
  
Frustration evident, Stiles whines, hands braced against Derek’s chest as he tilts his hips, ass rubbing over his cock rhythmically. “Derek.”  
  
“Still injured, here.” Derek reminds him, settles his hands on Stiles’ hips. “You do the work.”  
  
Truthfully, Derek just loves watching his mate in this position. There no sight greater than  Stiles sliding down his cock, taking all of him in and loving every single inch.  
  
“Lazy.” Stiles teases gently, but reaches behind to take Derek in hand and steady him as he sinks  down on him slowly, hips working in small circles. “You’re lucky I love you.”  
  
The look on his face, the blush of his cheek and the bite of his teeth on his soft lip will always be the most beautiful site to Derek.    
  
“Fuck, Derek, you feel so good inside of me.”  
  
The tight heat of Stiles‘ slick channel is enough to make Derek want to come in seconds. “What happened to my shy, non-swearing virginal mate?”  
  
Stiles drops down, hands bracing next to Derek’s hard on the pillows as he begins to ride him hard and fast. “He’s  been corrupted.”  
  
“Lucky me.”  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Like so many mornings before, Jackson has spent this one in a haze, not sure what to make of his life.  It’s still unbelievable, even after he’s had weeks to process.  
  
A choice had been made, and he was the one cast aside.  
  
Isaac left with him, despite everything that had passed between them; in spite of Jackson all but prostrating before him.  From Bella’s smug and simultaneously pitying glances all, from her explanation of the closeness between the two as they departed that night, all is clear: Adam is the victor.  Isaac had left the North, his people, his home, for him; parted with his most treasured belongings for him.  
  
Pride dictates that Jackson let him go, that he return to the Capitol suitably cowed and live his life as if they never met, but his heart cares nothing for his esteem and demands he follow, grovel at Isaac’s feet until he loves him in return.  
  
Jackson is suspended, afraid to move in either direction. He refuses his father’s summons, remains even as Derek’s sneers and words let him know he’s far out stayed his welcome. Jackson knows he’s an idiot, but he’s at a loss. He’d tried to make Isaac happy, he’s tried and failed and now, he’s lost his purpose. He’s unsure of what to do so he does nothing at all, remains in his chambers and remembers.  
  
Periodically, Stiles will venture down, cluck over him and shove disgusting sweets and pile blankets on him in a pathetic attempt at mothering. Jackson knows his brother thinks he’s fallen into a depression but he’s wrong. What Jackson’s feeling now is fear. Fear that he’s had  love and has lost it forever, fear that he has been condemned live out his days as a puppet, parroting words and playing a part he has no desire to fulfill... Not now, not after knowing Isaac.  
  
When you’re afraid it’s easy to bury your head in the sand; all to easy to remain and wallow.  
  
Laughter filters in from beneath his window. Jackson looks down into the courtyard. There are children playing, kicking a ball of tweed between them as their parents filter through to the several makeshift shops the locals have erected. A small boy, no more than four, is licking a peppermint stick, hand clutched at his mother’s skirts as he presumably watches his siblings play.  As if sensing him, the boy looks up, catches his gaze and grins broadly, waving up to him.  
  
In the past, Jackson would’ve ignored such a greeting; he’s never been fond of children not even his niece and nephew, but now, now he feels a longing so heavy he buckles under the weight of it.  
  
Jackson wants that; wants the happiness of these people, the joy so clear on their faces even as they scrape by with so little. There’s only one person who anchors his heart, gives him the peace to be happy. Isaac may not feel he is worthy, has reason to think so, but Jackson will prove his worth.  
  
 With renewed purpose, Jackson waves back to the child before he grabs his great cloak from the armoire. He will head down to the village, do as he should have done so long ago. There must be someone who knows of the direction the marauders planned to travel, and when he learns of the raiders destination he will follow his heart.  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
As a cub, Isaac accompanied his grandfather to the seaport one spring.  That had been the end of his wanderlust. The journey had taken near a fortnight and he’d been miserable the entire way, backside aching and dust flying into his nose and mouth. His grandfather had laughed uproariously at his pouting. Since then, Isaac avoided traveling far distances at all costs, even the capitol was nearly too strenuous of a pilgrimage.  
  
Those previous journeys pale in comparison to his current plight. They’ve been traveling on horseback for nearly two months, going through dense forest and dusty roads to work inland and then straight to the Adriatic where Erica would depart for the New World and they would set sail for Scotland.  
  
Due to his condition,  Isaac finds himself tiring easily, back ache increasing to the point where he is forced to dismount and walk beside his horse.  
  
“Are you doing alright?”  
  
Isaac casts a glare in Adam‘s direction, “For the fifth time, I’m bloody fine.”  
  
“I was just--”  
  
“Being considerate.” Isaac sighs, rubbing the small of his back as he does. “ I know.”  
  
They continue in silence for several minutes, Isaac focusing on the swinging burlap flaps of Erica’s wagon to distract his thoughts. Each day brings him closer to his new life, and further away from the North. It should make him happy, but Isaac aches; he misses Jackson. It’s disgusting but that’s the reality of it.  
  
Adam jumps off his own mount, lands beside him, hand extended. “Would you like some fruit? Erica says this is called a Tamarind, it‘s sweet.”  
  
“I’m not hungry.”  
  
“Goats milk, then?” Ever the cheerful bastard, Adam rushes to his saddle bag. “ My Mum used to say it was good for cub--”  
  
“I’m going to ride with Erica.” Adam’s incessant concern is insufferable, and Isaac’s patience has reached it’s limit. “Don’t follow.”  
  
“Didn’t realize how over bearing I got if you’d rather be with my dragon.” Voice subdued and tinged with hurt, Adam gives him his back and Isaac feels like a heel.  
  
“I’m sorry Adam, I am, it’s not you that I’m annoyed with it’s… I appreciate everything you‘ve done, but.” Isaac smiles tiredly, “You have to stop trying to feed me at every turn.”  
  
“Just excited is all, I want to make sure you’re gettin’ enough seeing as your carryin’. I don’t want anything to happen to you, we’re riding hard as it is.”  
  
“I’m fine--oh!” Isaac breaks off on a gasp as he feels one of his cubs give a hard kick against his side, just below his ribs. He’s never felt them move so strongly before, it’s always been flutters. But these kicks, they feel real. This is actually real.  
  
Of course Adam panics. “Is everything--”  
  
“Feel.” Isaac grabs his friend’s hand and brings it to the swell beneath his robes. Adam‘s entire face lights up when another kick follows and he gives a loud laugh of delight. The men around give them looks of barely contained amusement. “Everything is fine.”  
  
“They’re strong little buggers, ain’t they?”  
  
Isaac looks down at Adam’s hand, watches his fingers spread  over his stomach and feels himself splintering, breaking.  It’s a sight he’s imagined often as they walked along the road, except it had been Jackson’s hand on him, Jackson’s voice filled with pride and excitement. He wishes that Jackson could share in this, that he cared for them and loved them enough to be with them.  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
Derek finds Jackson in front of the stables, signature whites impossible to miss. Voice hurried, Jackson is speaking with his stable master. The Arabians still remain stabled but the Friesian stallions are being led out, no doubt to the wagon being readied by Jackson‘s men.  
  
“Jackson!”  
  
“You’re out of bed.” Jackson looks surprised to see him, and not at all pleased. “ I told you to remain there for another week. The deeper wounds on your abdomen must--”  
  
“You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you?” Derek interjects. “Then you could skulk off and not answer for any of your sins. Have you no sense of self-respect? No shame?”  
  
Jackson’s mouth tightens in indignation. He turns to the stable master, “ Ready the carriages in the courtyard; tell the men to be ready to depart upon my arrival.”  
  
The young man nods quickly, giving orders for the other hands to follow before leaving them alone.  
  
“Have you no sense of propriety?” Jackson demands icily, “ You may prefer to air your affairs in front of the staff but do not act so freely with mine.”  
  
“I’ll do as I please, “ Derek straightens; this has been long over due, and there is no Stiles to step between. “Just where are you off to?”  
  
“That’s none of your concern.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“Why do you care? I thought you wanted me gone.”  
  
“I hope you’re set for the Capitol.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Really?” Derek steps forward, “ Than why did I hear word of you seeking Erica’s whereabouts? Do you think to follow Isaac? Heap more misery on the boy?”  
  
“I have done nothing--”  
  
Derek’s fist is slamming into his jaw before he can stop himself. Jackson looks at him in utter shock, cheek blooming a furious red that spreads down his neck.    
  
Slowly, Jackson’s hand comes to his cheek. “You hit me.” The words are spoke with disbelief. “You bloody bastard.”  
  
“You deserved it.” Derek spits, blood pumping hotly. That’s his issue with Jackson, the blatant disregard that cloaks every one of his actions; the man didn’t care who he hurts. That he could stand and say he did nothing wrong, and truly believe it. “It’s because you couldn’t keep your cock in your pants that Isaac left.”  
  
“I don’t have to defend myself to you. I cared for him deeply, still do. But Isaac chose, Derek, and he clearly didn‘t prefer me.”  
  
“And why would he?” Derek snarls, stabs a finger into Jackson’s chest to accentuate his words; make sure they‘re heard, “ You care only for yourself; for your white garments and fancy mounts. You care for your title, estate and reputation. Material things, those are all you can care about because that is all you are; an empty shell of compliments and coin.”  
  
Derek hears his words, cringes away from them but he can’t stop speaking; he wants to hurt Jackson, make him feel broken and twisted inside for once.  
  
“Everyone will eventually see through your facade, just as the unit did during the war. You  weren’t up to snuff, Jackson, when people need you-- when we needed you-- you weren’t  enough.  I saw it, Deaton saw it and now Isaac sees  it. You deserve every ounce of--”  
  
“Derek!”  
  
Derek turns to find Stiles watching them at the top of the path, ears red and mouth agape. It’s clear he’s heard most of what Derek’s said. Shit.  
  
“Stay out of it, Stiles.”  
  
“No.” Stiles stomps over to stand in front of Jackson, face red with anger. “You hit him and now you‘re saying these awful things to him?!”  
  
“It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.”  
  
“Jackson is my brother, and your friend!”  
  
 “There’s no friendship between us.” Jackson says quietly. “Never was.”  
  
“Derek!” Now Stiles is looking at him expectantly, eyes big and pleading but  Derek refuses to give in; stubbornly remains quiet. “ Jack, listen--”  
  
“I’ve made mistakes, but I’m trying to rectify them.” Jackson interrupts, moving Stiles out of his way. “ You may think I’m nothing but I’m going after Isaac and I will have him as my mate and husband, no matter what you or anyone else says.”  
  
“Marriage?” Derek’s struck dumb. He’d never thought….he’d assumed. Nobleman take servants for affairs, that was all.  “I thought---”  
  
“Again,” Jackson smiles coldly, “I care not for what you think.” With that, he’s off leaning Derek with a fuming Stiles.  
  
“Why would you say such things?”  
  
“I was angry because I overheard Claire speaking with Tom; she said that Jackson has been asking about Isaac, wanting to know where he set off for.” Derek admits sheepishly,  “It made me angry enough to lash out.”  
  
“I’ve been on the receiving end of that more than once.” Stiles doesn’t look impressed by his explanation. “You hit my brother--”  
  
“Nothing that hasn’t happened before--”  
  
 “And you said those awful things about the war, you know he’s still in knots over Dr. Deaton’s death and you used that to hurt him.”  
  
It wasn’t  his proudest moment; he‘d regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. “That was low.”  
  
“It was,” Stiles agrees solemnly. “You know each other so well, why use that knowledge against one another?”  
  
“I regret doing so.”  
  
“You’re still sleeping alone tonight.”  
  
*Jackson*  
  
“His grace, the Baron of Wisteria, to see you my lord.”  
  
The  butler announces Jackson and he bristles at the rigid formality after so many months in the North. When he’s shown to the parlor, Jackson finds his father waiting; word of his arrival has clearly preceded him.  
  
John is reclining in a large, velvet upholstered arm chair near the fire, book in hand.  
  
Jackson has never been afraid to voice his opinions but he finds himself filled with hesitation. “Dad.”  
  
“Jack,” John sets the book down on the end table. He’s furious, it’s evident in every line of his body. “It’s nice to see you after so many months of silence.”  
  
“Forgive me,” Jackson placates smoothly, “I was otherwise taken.”  
  
Sharp eyes meet his, “So I have heard; the gossip mongers have had a field day at our family’s expense.”  
  
“I apologize--”  
  
“People invent outrageous tales, and you can not blame them when the heir to Wisteria vanishes for the entire season while his intended parades about the Capitol garnering sympathy.”  
  
“It was Lady Sophia’s decision to dissolve the betrothal.”  
  
“After you spouted nonsense of living as a country physician in a mud hut! You will never do something to embarrass me in such a manner again, do you understand, Jackson? You will do what is expected of you!”  
  
The shouting is unexpected, Jackson takes the seat across from his father, fingers curling over the armrest. John’s eyes dart to the open door where the staff is no doubt listening before he composes himself.  
  
“I love him.”  
  
It’s all that is left to say, the only thing of weight. They both know who he speaks of but John ignores him, shows no indication he’s even heard the words save for a slight twitch in his jaw.  
  
“You will make this right.” John continues in that strangely detached tone, “You will grovel before the Beauforts and  they will have accept you once more.”  
  
“ Father, I’ve made my decision.”  
  
“Your title is still the most attractive among the men of age, even more so with the Viscount Boyd newly betrothed. You‘re an impeccable match, they know that.”  
  
“You’re not listening!” Jackson finally explodes. “ I will not be marrying lady Sophia, or anyone else of your choosing for that matter.”  
  
“Keep your voice down!”  
  
“That’s what I came to tell you, Father. I don’t need your permission, nor do I seek it. I’ve spoken with grandfather’s solicitor and disclaimed everything.”  
  
John’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head, face turning red. “ Have you gone mad?”  
  
“It’s the only way--”  
  
“Haven’t you been listening to a thing I‘ve said?” John strides over to the door, shuts it firmly. “ It’s not the only way! Marry Sophia, Jack, marry her and then take the servant as you wish! That is the way it is done…. I…I understand Jackson, I do. I wouldn‘t have been able to walk away from Caroline or Stiles for that matter. But you, you are special; you were born with obligations and you must see them fulfilled.”  
  
“Then you would have made Caroline your mistress? Kept her below stairs like a whore? Is that what makes you a gentlemen, father?”  
  
“Don’t you dare speak of her that way,” John hisses, fist twisting in the fine silk of Jackson’s shirt in a brutal grip. “ And do not think I will allow you to sully my name in my own home. I am still your father.”  
  
“Then be a  father and stand by my choice.”  
  
“No.” All the fight drains out of him. John releases him. “If you do this Jackson, then I must let you stand by yours. You have a duty to your bloodline.”  
  
“To marry without love? Did you even love my mother?”  
  
John flinches. “How can you ask me that?”  
  
“Just answer me.”  
  
“I loved her,” The words are rushed, obviously false. “ I did.”  
  
“But not the way you loved Caroline. Even as a child, I saw the difference. We all did. Why do you think Matthew was so keen to seek a military career? He hated it the most, because he remembered Mother and knew she never received  the same care. You smiled with her, laughed and touched her for no reason. It was as if you couldn‘t bear to be parted. You never treated Mother the same--”  
  
John snaps. “You can think what you like about me but I married into my station; I understood that life isn’t about what I want or my whims. I was never selfish enough to break the heart of my intended, to resort to ruse and manipulation to shirk my responsibilities.”  
  
“There is no ruse or manipulation! I love Isaac.”  
  
“I believe you think you do--”  
  
“I do.” Jackson is weary of this, of constantly defending what others refuse to accept. “I’m not like you. I won’t mate without love so my coffers remain cushioned.”  
  
That’s the truth of it; the reality they’d always known as children because their grandfather had never let them forget it.  
  
It seems his father is done with denials, and even though he doesn‘t dispute the words, Jackson can see they wound him deeply. “ You have to be patient, and in time you can reclaim what you always wanted.”  
  
Suddenly, Jackson wonders about it all. How Stiles was brought home that night with his mother, how the beta remained unmated and refused to name the boy’s father.  
  
Even as an outside cub Stiles smelled like Taylor, resembled Matthew.  
  
“Stiles is…” The words stick in Jackson’s throat and he hopes, prays he doesn’t have to speak them aloud, but his father remains silent, terror emanating from him in arid waves. “He is, isn’t he?” Rage eclipses betrayal. “ You never would have admitted it, would you? Even now. You would deny your own child!”  
  
John opens his mouth on aborted words, but then clenches his jaw, shakes his head. “I love all of my children, each of you.”  
  
“And Stiles?”  
  
“I love him…as if h-he was my own.”  
  
“You’re a coward.”  
  
“I do what has to be done; for all of you.”  
  
“I won’t allow myself to become what stands before me.”  
  
John’s eyes drop to the  oriental rug, it’s the first sign of shame he’s displayed. “Do you understand what you’re walking away from?”  
  
“I do.” Jackson reaches to the breast of his formal cape touches the heavy precious metal that bares the family crest inscribed. He rips the clasp, breaking the threads that have held it there. It drops to the floor at his father‘s feet.  “And I gladly leave it behind.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
It’s laughable that Derek thinks he can sneak into bed with him; Stiles catches his scent immediately, before he even entered the bed chamber.  Derek’s movements are hesitant, steps heavier than normal and Stiles knows his leg must be bothering him. Even though Stiles is still angry, he feels a bolt of sympathy for his mate; he knows the pain Derek has to live with daily.  
  
The bed dips beneath Derek’s weight and Stiles opens his eyes. “What are you doing?”  
  
Derek looks like guilty child, “It’s been three days since he left.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Jackson’s fine, why aren’t you?”  
  
“How would you know what he is.”  
  
“I know he will be, we’ve done this before. Why does it bother you so much?”  
  
“Would you have let anyone speak to Laura that way?”  
  
Derek’s eyes flash blue in the darkness, “Hell no.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“But Jackson’s not even your…” Derek trails off, but the words may as well have been spoken. “You know what I mean, Jackson is an ass.”  
  
“There’s more to him.” Stiles pulls back the covers and Derek crawls gratefully between. “He may not be my brother by blood but he’s always acted as if he was. He read me stories almost every night and changed the endings if I didn’t care for what was written. When I was ill he’d spend hours with me, doing magic tricks because it was the only thing that would make me smile. I learned how to bait my first hook through his instruction.”  
  
“Jackson baited a hook?” Derek mock gasps. “I hope he didn’t ruin his perfect whites.”  
  
“Yes, jerk.” Stiles pinches him, “And I am not blind to his faults,  he can be… difficult, but that’s only because of the pressures he has in his station. He deserves to be happy.”  
  
“Then he means what he says? About mating with Isaac?”  
  
“I know he’s already spoken to Dad about it.”  
  
“Then fine.” Derek lays down on his back, hands crossing behind his head. “Isaac is like a brother to me, and before it all went to shit, he really did seem happy with Jackson.”  
  
Stiles smiles and rests his head against Derek’s chest. They lay in silence, Derek’s hand stroking idly over his hair. It’s not long before Derek moves down the bed, pillowing his head over Stiles’ stomach. It’s his favored position as of late.  
  
“It was strange.”  
  
“What was?”  
  
“Not hearing her heartbeat before I fell asleep.”  
  
Warmth fills Stiles, “You always say ‘she’.”  
  
“Do I? Perhaps it’s because I’d like a daughter.”  
  
“Not an alpha son?”  
  
“A daughter,” Derek  says decidedly and comes back up. “With your eyes and hair and pointy ears--”  
  
“I do not have pointy ears!”  
  
“You do; like a woodland elf.”  
  
“I hate you.”  
  
“And your cute little moles.” Derek  trails the tip of his  finger over Stiles’ cheek, just below his right eye and then to his chin. “Here and here.”  
  
“Derek Hale, are you teasing me? You mean you actually have a sense of humor underneath all the scowls and snarls?”  
  
“I’m more amusing than you will ever be.” Derek laughs, before brushing his mouth in a kiss.  “Remember when I filled Matt’s boots with toffee pudding?”  
  
“He certainly wasn’t laughing.” Stiles can recall the stream of very colorful swears his brother had yelled when he’d found himself knee deep in melted sugar. “It was hilarious.”  
  
“Your father was not similarly taken.” Derek shrugs, then grins. “All my calling cards were refused for a week, and it was Jackson’s idea to begin with.”  
  
“My father thought you were a bad influence on him.”  
  
“Children pull pranks, it’s normal.”  
  
“So when our child terrorizes me, you’ll what?”  
  
“Join in, of course.”  
  
“Fine.” Stiles dissolves into laughter, “Just no pudding, Matthew smelled of toffee for months.”  
  
“Got it, involve toffee pudding.”  
  
Stiles pokes him in the side, hard. “I’ve created a monster, where’s the silent Derek who brought me Cloud then rode away without a word?”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re speaking of.”  
  
Leaning up, Stiles kisses Derek softly, “I like seeing you smile.” He draws Derek’s hand against his flat stomach, laces their fingers together atop their cub. “I hope she has your smile.”  
  
 ***Adam***  
  
It’s nothing like he’d imagined and judging by the faltering smile on Isaac’s face, he’s feeling the same sharp disappointment. The cottage they’re shown to is old, covered in dried mud, leaves, enormous spider webs and piles of rusted equipment that the previous owner had left behind some twenty years prior. The windows are too grimy to let any light inside and honestly, Adam knows the light would only make it worse. Dirty brown water is steadily dripping from the thatched roof to pool on a rotted wood table that stands drunkenly on three legs.  
  
The vendor’s fast retreat now makes perfect sense; she’d known what shit she’s sold them. He doesn’t know why he trusted the crone enough to buy a cottage without inspection but he hadn’t exactly had another choice.  
  
Isaac is the first to venture further inside, stepping over rusted cans. “It’s…”  
  
“Pure shit.” Adam finishes. “Looks like there are crooks outside of pack.”  
  
“Nonsense.” Isaac drops the saddle bag to the ground resolutely. “Feed and water the horses,  I’ll get a fire going.”  
  
“Are you cold then?” There is a draft courtesy of the giant hole in the roof.  
  
“No, we need to boil water to disinfect,” Isaac pokes the toe of his boot into the debris jammed outside and in the chimney, “Outside preferably. We’ll clear out the mess and scrub this place down. The sun’s still high, we have plenty of time to work before dusk.”  
  
For the first time since Erica hugged him tightly at the seaport, Adam misses her. “How can you be so optimistic? We gave her all our money.”  
  
“What else can we be?” Isaac’s already digging through his satchel, ripping off wool fabric into neat squares before grabbing the large table by two legs. “ Adam? The horses.”  
  
It takes longer than anticipated to see to the four horses.  Isaac’s mount is docile but the three new ones are far more spirited. At Erica’s grudged direction, he’d purchased two Shire Stallions and she had gifted him a mare. She’d told him that the horses were ideal for plowing, and Adam can see why.  The Shire’s are a gigantic  breed, the mare, Callie, stands over 16 hands and the two stallions, Cain and Abel, are well over  17.  They’d pulled the newly purchased supplies in the heavily laden wagon with ease.  
  
By the time Adam finds a stable willing to house them in town, he comes back to find a large pile outside of the hut and  a fire going outside of it, a cauldron atop large, flat stones.  
  
 Isaac peeks out as he approaches, face covered in soot and sleeves rolled up. He looks like a street urchin.  An adorable one.  
  
“There was a pot in here!” He sounds excited, “And some other things we can still use, I found a sweep!”  
  
As sweaty as he is and as dismal as the cabin still looks, Adam can’t help but smile at the sight in front of him. Isaac’s enthusiasm is contagious.  
  
“I housed the horses up the road, asked to lend the ladder so I‘ll get started on the roof tomorrow.”  
  
“See,” Isaac’s dimple peeks out. “ Things are falling into place.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Adam grouses, dropping his gaze quickly. He has to stop thinking of this as real; has to stop hoping. They both have enough problems without his misplaced feelings muddling things. “ Don’t move that dresser.”  
  
“I’m more than capable--”  
  
“Just this once, don’t argue.”  
  
With a huff, Isaac moves away but he‘s not annoyed.  
  
“Thank you, Adam.”  
  
The gratitude warms him, and Adam shuffles inside to grab the half rotted piece of furniture only to let out an unmanly screech when the dresser door flies open and birds fly at his face for disturbing their nest.  Shock makes him fall backwards on his ass and Isaac doesn’t stop laughing for a humiliatingly long time. It’s not long before Adam joins him.  
  
Several hours later the house is blessedly clear, clean and on its way to becoming inhabitable. They still sleep in the wagon bed that night, cover pulled back so they can watch the bright twinkle of the stars while they share a loaf of bread and cheese between them.  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
“And  the west fields? Should we begin plowing or do you think we’re in a for a cold snap?”  
  
“Winter is over.” Stiles replies after a moment of calculation, “However, the western fields should not be seeded with corn or wheat this time, rotate the potatoes and squash to the west and bring the corn and wheat to the east. The southern field should be left fallow.”  
  
“Is there a reason, milord?” The farmer asks timidly, “ We’ve planted the squash in the South for several generations.”  
  
“Exactly,” Stiles informs him, he’s fully prepared for questions such as these. “The land has been depleted. I’ve read and researched that crop rotation is better for the soil and produces bountiful harvest.”  
  
“Your will, my lord.” The men bow and exit the hall.  
  
Beyond the closing doors Stiles can see there are still many more who are waiting to see him. The prospect doesn’t daunt him. In the past few weeks he’s studied hard with Miles, pored over the journals left by Peter, Lady Shannon and the castle ledgers in order to be equipped to handle the peoples concerns. Derek’s still not well enough to give counsel for hours on end, and Stiles has been thrust into that position.  
  
“Crop rotation, eh?” Miles muses at the seat to his right. “The idea is unheard of in these parts. The south runs against the river and Squash need the damp.”  
  
“It will work.” Stiles firmly states, “I would not give unreasoned words.”  
  
“It was not my intention to doubt you, my lord.” The soldier grins, revealing a wide gap in his teeth. It’s the first smile Stiles has received from him and he feels immensely proud.  “Quite the opposite, in fact. I can recall your utter confusion of our way of life upon your first arrival, and now you speak with wisdom of men who were born of this life.”  
  
“It has not been easy, and I still need your aide.”  
  
“Not for much longer.” Miles signals the guard and he lets the next villager inside the hall. “You’ve truly com into your own.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
It’s past noon when Stiles is relieved of his duties. Before he goes to the upper chambers however, he stops by the kitchens for some apple tarts. Derek, for all of his teasing, has developed quite a sweet tooth and Stiles is simply saving himself a trip.  While Stiles craves mutton and yeast rolls, Derek’s sympathetic cravings (so he claims) have given him cravings for sugar.  
  
Stiles has two  blackberry tarts and a chocolate on a plate when he hears it; muffled crying. Frowning, he ventures into the darkened serving room, a figure is huddled on a stool, shoulders hunched over as she sniffs.  
  
“Claire?”  
  
The girl instantly gets to her feet, hands swiping at her cheeks before she turns to face him with a forced smile. “M-my lord, apologies, I thought I was alone. How may I serve you?”  
  
“I have no need,” Stiles sets the plate down on the table beside her. “Why are you crying?”  
  
“Silly things, my lord, do not concern yourself.”  
  
“Nonsense, “ Stiles prods gently, “What happened?”  
  
“Honestly, it’s nothing--”  
  
“Claire.”  
  
“I’m far too sensitive for my own good. My Mum is always saying.” Claire admits, eyes wet. “ I argued with Bella and she… we both said some things.”  
  
“Argument about..?”  
  
“Isaac.” Claire lifts her chin, “ He’s not what she says he is; he’s not!” Her voice is  aggressive, not at all like her usual sweet demeanor. “He’s not a …w-whore.”  
  
Cold runs down his spine  at the word, “Bella said that?”  
  
Claire nods miserably, “ And she spreads tales of untruth, she’s even told the Baron such vileness.”  
  
“My brother?”  
  
“She has, my lord.” Claire’s hands twists in her apron. “And it’s not true, I swear it! Isaac is kind and good and gentle… he is n-not a commoner; not in  the way that matters. He‘s always been b-better.”  
  
When she finishes speaking, Claire looks slightly terrified and Stiles assures her that she’s done nothing wrong. That, in fact, Isaac  will soon be his brother is Jackson has his way. That makes the girl beam and fresh tears appear at her cheeks.  
  
However, Stiles has another matter to address. “Where is Bella now?”  
  
“The laundry, my lord.”  
  
Stiles thanks her and then seeks the woman out. He finds Bella exactly where Claire has instructed. Bella is not working, instead she’s leaning against the wall, laughing and gossiping while the younger servants do the heavy wash of the bedding.  
  
“Bella.” Stiles calls out, and a flash of annoyance crosses her pretty face. “I’d like to speak with you.”  
  
The woman makes a great show of giving the others instruction before going out into the hallway with freshly pressed linens in a basket, expression falsely demure.  
  
“How may I serve you?”  
  
“I found Claire beside herself in the kitchen.”  
  
“The girl is forever lazing about!” Bella  sniffs, “ I will speak with her about her work ethic immediately.”  
  
“You’ll do no such thing. The reason for her condition was your vicious words.”  
  
“Me, my lord?” Her tone is flippant. “I scarcely speak to her.”  
  
“But you speak of others, don’t you? Of Isaac, in particular.”  
  
Bella’s lips purse, “Apologies, my lord, but I have no knowledge of what you speak.”  
  
The lie is obvious on its face, they both know it and Stiles has had enough. “ You know exactly of what I speak.  All know of your penchant for malicious gossip, and Isaac has often been the name on your tongue.”  
  
“If I spoke, I spoke only the truth.”  
  
“Enough!  I’ve had enough of your schemes and lies. You’re relieved of your duties effective immediately. I’ve already sent Miles to speak with your alpha.”  
  
The girl’s eyes go wide and for once she doesn’t seem so arrogant. “B-but, my lord, I can assure you, this has all been a misunderstanding--”  
  
“Really?” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest challengingly,  “Did I imagine you torturing Isaac for our amusement? Did I misunderstand you misleading my brother about Isaac’s intentions?”  
  
“The Baron asked me what I--”  
  
“You’re malevolent and spiteful,  I won’t stand for it and your Alpha won’t stand for it either---”  
  
“Of course, Derek wouldn’t stand for the Baron’s offense.”  
  
The informality gives Stiles pause but he refuses to indulge her any further.  
  
“Never interrupt me.”  Stiles has seen servants in the capital flogged for lesser offenses and yet she still pushes.  “Leave the castle and our land now.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“I won’t discuss this further.”  
  
“Fine.” Bella drops her basket at his feet. “ But a word of advice, Lord Hale? Perhaps you should inquire of the Alpha just why he’s so quick to defend the Baron.”  
  
“Jackson is family--”  
  
“Oh yes” Bella smiles knowingly, “Much more intimately than you know.“  
  
Stiles’ stomach drops, bile rising. “Leave,  before I have you dragged out.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
With each passing day Isaac feels as if he grows larger. His belly now sticks out far past his feet and is visible beneath his tunic should he not wear a cloak. Twice, Isaac has had to let out his garments and he’s been forced to purchase different breeches entirely.    
  
Their little cottage is now truly a home. After they had cleared out the house, Adam had stripped the floor with lye and Isaac had woven sweet reeds to make mats. They’d unpacked the wagon and fashioned a small table near the large window opposite the hearth. The cottage consists of two rooms. The large one is their kitchen and they’ve sectioned off the left side as Isaac’s bedroom. Adam takes the smaller room tucked away in the back. It will suit them when his babies are born.  
  
Babies; Isaac is still reeling from the knowledge that there are two cubs inside of him when he had assumed one. Isaac brings his hand to his stomach, strokes it idly as the cubs kick. Isaac thinks back to Jackson’s few, awkward interactions with the village children and smiles; Jackson would have no idea what to do with one infant, much less two.  
  
 “You miss him.”  
  
At Adam’s voice, Isaac looks away from the potato fields, and stands. He  bends to retrieve the basket he had set down during his short rest. It’s filled with  flat stones he’s tilled from the earth in preparation for planting.  
  
Ignoring the question, Isaac says, “ I expected you would be in the village all day.”  
  
“No,” Adam shrugs, “I found a few men willing and able to start on the barn with me.”  
  
“And for what payment?”  
  
“Cain and Able will be at their disposal for a week.” When Isaac frowns Adams rushes to add, “Subject to my supervision of course.”  
  
“Good, then you’re finished with your work for the day?”  
  
“Aye,” Adam grins, cheeks ruddy. He’s settling into his new life brilliantly. “ The skeleton of the barn has already been erected.” There’s a calm about Adam that wasn‘t there before, and absent Erica’s sharp gaze and even sharper derision, he’s blossomed into a capable man. “The life of a gentleman farmer suits me.”  
  
“You are no gentleman.” Isaac scoffs as looks up at the darkening sky; setting sun casting pink and orange over the horizon. “ But it’s nice to have a place to call our own.”  
  
“As nice as the North?”  
  
“What does it matter? This is home now.”  
  
“All this sea air could drive a man mad.” Adam grabs the basket from him and Isaac resists the urge to hit him over the head. The beta treats him as if he’s made of spun glass when Isaac has known hard labor all of his life. “Hell, we could’ve bought the adjoining acres if you sold the necklace like you planned.”  
  
“I will pay you back.” Despite necessity, in spite of his plans, Isaac hadn’t been able to part with the damn thing.  As idiotic as it was, it was the last he had of Jackson, and Isaac couldn’t help but feel that it was important. He’d give it to his children one day. “As soon as we sell our first crop.”  
  
“Put such thoughts from mind; you saved me from a life of marauding; your presence is repayment enough. Besides, I’m convinced selling such fine jewelry would have brought the king‘s guard down on our heads.”  
  
The cottage they share comes into view and despite it’s old walls and moss stained windows, Isaac feels a spring in his step. When they enter, Isaac goes over to the fire, kindles it quickly to set the water in the cauldron to boil. He begins to peel potatoes and carrots, Adam cutting off strips of dry lamb they’d purchased on their last foray into town.  It’s a routine they’ve each settled into, the preparations well on their way to a comfortable tradition.  
  
“I nearly forgot, “ Adam takes a small pouch out of his breeches and tosses it down unto the table. “That woman at the Apothecary swears by the stuff for strength; it has no taste and you can brew it in your morning tea.”  
  
“You think I need strength?”  
  
“Your time is nearly upon you, and I am all the aid you have; you will need your strength.” Adam tosses the lamb chunks into the boiling water, chopping some rosemary and other spices to add. “I will say this, if there’s one thing I do miss about the North, it’s the cook. I thought I’d  gone to the afterlife when she made that butternut mash and sausage.”  
  
“She created magic with our fare.”  
  
“Don’t remind me! God, even the horrid cheese blossomed beneath her had.” Adam groans loudly. “Oh bloody hell, I actually miss the cheese.”  
  
Isaac hums in agreement, “I miss the oatcakes, with just a hint of wild honey.”  
  
“The height of the trees that eclipsed the sun.”  
  
Isaac smiles, inhaling deeps as he recollects the past. “The smell of Pine, Brugmansia, Primrose and Nicotiana.”  
  
“The people, none have ever welcomed me but they did.” Adam sits down on the stool, preparations forgotten. “As we worked, Claire would sing silly songs she composed. They were shit but it felt like family, and  I miss her. ”  
  
“The caverns.” Isaac admits quietly. “ I miss the security  of knowing that they had been forever in existence and would always be.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
Derek is currently wavering between annoyance and boredom. Stiles’ friend Lydia has taken it upon herself to ‘keep him company.’ The girl is doing his head in with all her talk of baby clothes and tiny blankets.  
  
Lydia speaks with the nervousness of one who’s avoiding larger problems and Derek has no doubt that her thoughts are occupied with the recent news sent from the capitol where the king has displayed Kate‘s head on a pike and had done the same to Scott’s. Denying a Were a burial is the ultimate disgrace and the  McCalls must suffer the indignity; it’s not just but the King’s will rarely is.  
  
Blessedly, in the midst of Lydia rattling on about Parisian omega fashion, Stiles arrives. Derek knows his mate has been busy with the affairs he usually oversees. He’s very proud of the strides Stiles has made and the people’s growing respect for him.  
  
“Stiles, finally. Lydia’s words would be better received by your ear.”  Derek smiles at his mate, faltering when he sees how upset Stiles. Instantly, He’s crossing the room to go to him. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Have you a-and Jack.” Stiles stops, only to start again. “You and Jackson h-haven’t…you wouldn‘t keep something like that from me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Don’t bullshit me, Derek, so what is all the bickering between you two? Foreplay?”  
  
It quickly becomes clear what Stiles has learned  and Derek feels panicked. “Lydia, please give us some privacy.”  
  
Lydia looks between the two of them worriedly but she leaves.  
  
Stiles shoves him, eyes furious.  “It’s true, isn’t it? You bloody liar!”  
  
There’s no way to explain and Derek had never thought he’d have to. He’s left tongue tied and afraid at the growing hurt and anger in Stiles’ eyes.  
  
“I never lied to you, and it was a long time ago. Long before--”  
  
“Oh god, it’s  actually true, then?” Stiles croaks, “You two…”  
  
“We were children.”  
  
“I deserved to know!”  
  
“I… I don’t know.” Derek struggles to find the right words to say. “ It was ages ago, and I didn’t want you hurt by it. I knew you would--”  
  
“That’s why you’re always at one another’s throats!” Stiles is beyond listening, furiously pacing as he speaks. “And all the while I’ve been the imbecile that you two bloody laughed at!”  
  
“We never laughed at you.”  
  
“I’m such an idiot!” Stiles cries. “A bloody fucking idiot!”  
  
“Stiles, listen to me, this shouldn’t change anything.”  Derek says beseechingly, taking his hand. “Does this change your feelings for me?”  
  
“You’re damn right it does.” Stiles hisses, before he turns away, tears open the door to head for the main stairs.  
  
Derek follows his short, angry strides up to their bedroom. When he reaches he finds the armoire doors flung wide open, Stiles shoving clothing inside a trunk.  
  
“So…“ To his horror, Derek’s voice cracks. “You’ll be leaving then.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Can I…” It’s never been quite so difficult to hold his emotions in line. “When you deliver, will you send word?”  
  
“What?” Stiles startles, “ Are you insane?”  
  
“Stiles, I know you’re angry, but I deserve to be there when--”  
  
“I’m only going across the hall! Why would I need to send word?”  
“You’re not going to the capitol?”  
  
“Why would you think such a thing?”  
  
“But you said everything changed.”  
  
Stiles stares up at him, clothing falling from his hand to the floor. “I’m angry, Derek, beyond angry, but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”  
  
Derek needs to hear it, “You still love me?”  
  
“Yes, you idiot.”  
  
“Even after I lied, you‘ll stay?”  
  
“Do you want me to go?  
  
Even now Derek would not blame Stiles if he left. “That’s not my choice to make.”  
  
 ***Stiles***  
  
The bleak acceptance on Derek’s face is Stiles undoing. As betrayed as he feels, the look on Derek’s face is heartbreaking. It’s as if he’d expected to be left behind and accepted that. It’s hard to believe that he can leave a man such as Derek insecure.  
  
Stiles walks over to where Derek stands, raises his bowed face, “You make it incredibly hard to stay angry at you.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Derek says fervently. “ I’ll apologize a hundred times if that’s what you want.”  
  
“I don’t.” Stiles moves away, “ It’s just. I can’t even think about it. You and Jackson… how long?”  
  
“Less than a few months when we were sixteen.”  
  
“Did you two…were you in love?”  
  
“In lust.” Derek corrects with a harsh laugh. “We’re alphas and we came of age at the same time. We were struggling to deal with hormones and ruts. We had one another. It made sense at the time. I thought we were both releasing steam; I didn‘t realize Jackson took it as more. When it ended, so did our friendship.”  
  
Stiles shudders, “So when Jackson warned me away, he thought he was helping me.”  
  
“Your brother thinks I use others.”  
  
“With good cause.”  
  
“It was not my intention to slight him or bruise his ego… nor was it my intention to do the same to you.”  
  
“I know that.” Stiles admits, that‘s not the problem. “I just need time.”  
  
“But you’re not leaving?”  
  
“No, you fool.” The look on Derek’s face  makes Stiles lean forward and kiss Derek. “As you said, it happened long ago and I’m not a child to sulk home to father.”  
  
Derek smiles, “Thank you.”  
  
“As it is, I’m in no condition to make the journey.”  
  
“No, you are not.” Derek tugs Stiles forward, walks back until he sits on the bed and pulls him unto his lap, “I should have told you.”  
  
“Yes,” Stiles agrees gravely; it still stings to have heard it from Bella. “You should have, especially when others knew.”  
  
“We vowed to keep it hidden, who told you?”  
  
“Your vow was rather poorly kept; Bella informed me right before I had her thrown out.”  
  
“That girl was always trouble, were it not for her father, I would not have offered employment all these years.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t reply, just rests his head down on Derek‘s shoulder, breathes in his scent to calm the maelstrom of emotion inside.  
  
“Are you alright?” Derek inquires softly.  
  
Stiles shakes his head, because he’s not, but he will be. There’s no reason to dwell on things of the past, not when his present is so perfect. Stiles has wanted  this for nearly his whole life, since he wrote those words in his journal all those years ago. His pride will heal.  
  
Slowly, Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek. The other man goes perfectly still, unmoving when Stiles continues to his chin and then finally his mouth. Stiles pulls back, eyes inches from Derek’s and just waits.  
  
A slight smile and Derek closes the distance. Everything within Stiles tingles as he  responds to Derek’s tentative kiss. His omega shimmers beneath the surface, calling for his mate. Gentle touches become fevered and soothing kisses catch fire. Derek pants harshly against his mouth, looks like he’s about to say something.  
  
Because Derek is feeling guilty--as he should -- Stiles knows he’ll offer to stop but he doesn’t want that; not anymore at least.  
  
“It’s alright, Derek.”  
  
Stiles straddles Derek’s hips when he nips  Stiles’ full bottom lip before trailing down to unbutton Stiles’ shirt and engulf his nipple in wet, sucking heat. Throwing his head back, Stiles whimpers as the sensitive buds are stimulated, lashed by Derek’s eager tongue. Pregnancy makes them even more sensitive and Derek, the bastard, knows they are his weak point.  
  
Proving he can be just as resourceful, Stiles reaches down between them to take Derek in hand through his breeches, squeezing at the already forming knot. Hot and hard, Derek surges up against his hand, gripping Stiles’ to bring him down to press hard against his erection. The heat of their erections grinding against each other is too good. Stiles’ not going to last, moans as much to Derek who grins before he stands to strip Stiles completely naked.  
  
When Derek reaches for his own laces, Stiles stops him and undoes the ties himself. Derek lets him, murmuring soft words of encouragement and touching the curls at the back of his neck while he peppers kisses atop Stiles’ bent head. The first sight of Derek’s heavy cock makes Stiles shiver. He loves how it feels in him, how he’s split open and reborn against the brutal waves of pleasure. Reverently, he curls his fingers over the swollen flesh, strokes up against Derek’s flushed shaft. The sounds Derek’s making are incredible; soft throaty groans as his hips begin to move up into the cradle of Stiles’ fingers.  
  
“Derek.”  
  
“I’ve got you.” Derek captures his lips once more, licking into them until Stiles is gasping. “Just let me.”  
  
One hand falls between them, circles Stiles’ cock. When Derek begins to move, twisting his fingers and squeezing hard; Stiles whimpers, bites at his mouth. He can feel himself growing wet  between his thighs, nearly comes when Derek’s finger slips over his entrance. But before he can catapult off the edge, Derek’s movements still and he’s turned unto his side. His entire body jerks when he feels Derek’s fingers  press inside of him.  Stiles squirms, rocking his hips back and helping his body get used to the intrusion. When Derek begins to  move them in and out,  Stiles is scrambling, dick hard and smearing wet against his belly.  
  
Derek settles behind him on the bed, huge and ready. “Can I?”  
  
The damp tip of his cock smacks against Stiles’ stretched opening, catching on the rim but not thrusting in.  
   
"Mm." Stiles gasps, body going hot with pleasure. He wants Derek to slam into him and make him his all over again. He wants to forget that there was ever another before him.  
  
“Stiles?” Derek sounds like he’s ready to beg and Stiles realizes he hasn’t answered.  
  
“God, yes.” Fingers reaching back to grips sweaty skin, Stiles braces himself, lifting his right knee up to give Derek room. “Yes.”  
  
The initial press in is torturous, the pain eclipsing the pleasure as Derek’s huge cock delves into him. When Derek finally slides home, Stiles gives a choked cry of relief. Derek’s begins a slow push in and drag out, filling him up as he holds Stiles tight. He feels full, complete, the last hurts fading away as they move as one.  
  
“I love you.” Derek’s fingers grip his chin, forcing Stiles’ head back for a sloppy, wet kiss as his hips continue fucking into Stiles’ willing body. “Only you, always you.”  
  
As each powerful thrust shakes him, Stiles whimpers against Derek’s mouth, greedily kissing him when he can catch his breath, other times tearing his mouth away to gasp when Derek slams in particularly deep.  
  
Stiles comes suddenly, with a bitten off shout and clamps down hard on Derek inside of him. Derek follows a few broken thrusts after him, knot pushing inside to tie them together as he moans Stiles’ name.  
  
 ***Jackson***  
  
Scotland.  
  
The journey is long and  difficult one, he’s always been prone to sickness brought about by the waves tossing the boat about. Jackson doesn’t resent a single second he spends at sea. Each wind tossed  day brings him closer to the shores that Isaac now calls home.  
  
As soon as the ship docks, Jackson steps off and heads ashore. At the captain’s direction he heads to Molly’s tavern; apparently that’s the place to get information on new arrivals. It takes two pints of ale and a particular mouthy farmer named McCullen before Jackson learns of the place he’s seeking.  
  
 ***Adam***  
  
It’s been an exhausting day but the barn is finally complete, the last nail hammered into the bright new wood. The stallions would have a home for the winter and they’d no longer be doing twice the work. Callie snorts next to him as if in agreement; Adam knows how over worked they’ve been.  
  
“Adam!”  
  
Adam thinks he should be more shocked than he feels to hear that voice, but in a way he’s always expected it. If he’s honest, he’s wished to hear it on the nights Isaac would allow his sadness to show long after he thought Adam had fallen asleep.  
  
“I need to find Isaac.” Jackson stares at him for a beat, before adding. “Please.”  
  
The two men regard one another silently.  
  
“We have a cottage, further up the road, to the left of the potato fields.” Adam shifts on his heels before handing Callie’s reigns off. “ He’ll be  in the fields. Callie knows the way.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jackson seems amazed, “I did not anticipate aid from my competitor.”  
  
Adam looks  back at the barn; tries to be content with what he has gained. “I was never your competitor, ya daft idiot. Isaac never saw another after he laid eyes on you.”  
  
 ***Isaac***  
  
It’s difficult for Isaac to get out of bed most mornings now, his back pains him constantly, and he tires very easily but Isaac tries to give as much aid as he can.  It’s not fair that Adam must shoulder the brunt of the labor as well as the cost.  
  
The short walk to the field has stolen his breath and Isaac sits down on the grassy knoll, eyes already drooping.  It’s clear he’ll have to take a nap instead of the weeding of the potatoes he’d anticipated.  
  
Shutting his eyes against the warmth and light of the sun, Isaac turns unto his side and pulls his cloak over his robes in a makeshift bed.  
  
Moments later, Isaac is startled from sleep by the  pounding hooves. Isaac scrambles back against the tree as he stares up at Callie rearing back on her hind legs, neighing loudly as her massive hooves narrowly miss him his shins.    
  
Jackson is the rider.  
  
The entire scene is reminiscent of that first day in the Capitol, where is all began.  
  
“Aren’t you meant to be fetching and sweeping?” Jackson jests, mirroring the past in laughter.    
  
Shock leaves Isaac speechless. He can do naught but stare at the other man; take in the breadth of his shoulders beneath the white jacket, the gold of his hair in the sun. It’s been so long since he’s seen Jackson outside of his dreams, and his presence overwhelms, causes his pulse to race and the cubs to kick within him.  
  
Isaac tugs the cloak further around his shoulders, making sure to shield his belly from view.  
  
Jackson dismounts, polished boots hitting the ground gracefully. “I…I cannot begin to explain how happy I am to have finally found you.”  
  
“H-how did you get Callie?”  
  
“Adam was kind enough to lend the mare, but I would have gone on foot.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You’re an intelligent man, you know why.” Jackson states, perfect as always. “I came for you.”  
  
Isaac lets the words flow over him, savors them for a moment before he releases them to face reality. “Nothing has changed.”  
  
“Except everything has.”  
  
“I’m still a servant and you’re still a pompous asshole lord.”  
  
Jackson’s lips twitch. “I’m afraid I’m now simply a pompous asshole.”  
  
Isaac stills, fingers curling in the grass. “What do you mean?”  
  
The smile Jackson gives is tremulous. “I was formally stripped of title and estate; there are no lords among us now.”  
  
“What has occurred?”  
  
Jackson sits on the grass next to him, hands landing beside his tentatively. “There was no cause save my own choosing.”  
  
Heart pounding, Isaac looks at him, mouth dry. “Why would you do such a thing?”  
  
“It was quite simple really; my title or you. I chose you.”  
  
 _I chose you._  
  
Three words even more powerful than the ones Isaac had longed to hear before.To be a priority, to be Jackson’s _choice_ ; it‘s what he‘s always wanted since that first night. Isaac should be ecstatic, he should be rejoicing and taking Jackson into his arms in celebration but he’s paralyzed under the weight of it all.  
  
Isaac doesn’t want Jackson to regret his choice, regret choosing him. The life he can offer is nothing in comparison to the grandeur Jackson was born of and accustomed to.  
  
How long would it take for Jackson to resent him…resent their cubs?  
  
“I’d expected more than silence.” Jackson uncertainly touches his hand but he yanks it away. “Isaac?”  
  
“You once said that without your title you are nothing.”  
  
“And yet I have discovered it is without you I am truly reduced to such.”  
  
“You’re really here…you’re not--”  
  
“On more than one occasion, you’ve said that you prefer me, the man, as opposed to all I can offer.“ Jackson’s words are unsure absent the strength they held before. “I…I’ve been stripped of position, and with it my fortune. So I am truly just a man, Isaac, one who can offer you nothing but himself.  I will remain as long as you will have me.”  
  
“As long as I can _stand_ you,” There’s moisture clinging to Isaac’s dark lashes even as he jests. Jackson laughs in response, eyes wet as well before he finally takes his lips in a sweet kiss. Jackson’s taste explodes on his tongue, tangy and familiar, quenching what he’s yearned for these past lonely months. “Or would it be too trite if I said forever?”  
  
“Forever?“ Jackson smiles against his mouth, “That sounds perfectly in line with my proposal.”  
  
“Then I  accept those terms, Sir Jackson…” Isaac moves away nervously. “If you’ll still have me.”  
  
“Why on earth would I refuse you now?”  
  
Trembling, Isaac draws Jackson’s hand from his cheek, presses a kiss to the palm before bringing it down to his belly that has remained hidden beneath the voluminous fabric of his cloak and robe.  
  
“You’re…” Jackson stammers, eyes round with disbelief. “You are with child.”  
  
“O- _our_ _child_.”  
  
“I’d _never_ doubt that, nor question it.” Jackson says fiercely, “Why didn’t you tell me, why not send word?”  
  
“What lord would rejoice in the news of an illegitimate child?”  
  
“This one would, and will.” The pain behind the words dissolve any anger within Jackson. “I will become a man you can believe in, Isaac, I swear it.”  
  
“You already are.”  
  
“And our child will bear my name, if you should so wish it…” Jackson  stops himself. “I had meant  for this to be a grand gesture.”  
  
“A grand gesture of what?”  
  
“And I, ” Jackson fishes an emerald and diamond eternity band out of his pocket, places it down in the palm of Isaac‘s hand  and his breath suspends. “I’d like you to bear my name as well, as husband and mate, it is the only thing I’ve left to give.”  
  
Isaac doesn’t say anything for a long while, the sound of the wind  drowning out all else.  
  
“In the North, ” Isaac finally whispers, and when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, “Did you mean to give it to me then? That night you came to my room?”  
  
“I had hoped to give you something else.” Jackson responds, “Taylor gave me my mother’s  ring, after I disclaimed. It was his. We all received something of our hers but I’ve misplaced her necklace--”  
  
“I have it.”  
  
“The necklace? You do?”  
  
“I took it to sell it for coin.”  
  
“I see.” Jackson swallows hard,  “Do not concern yourself, it’s a small thing to sacrifice for your well-being.”  
  
“But I couldn’t part with it.”  
  
A smile breaks across Jackson’s face and he gathers Isaac into his arms, hand cradling his hair as he breaths in the scent that’s been denied him for so long. He can hear the heart beat of his children, wonders at how he missed the steady sounds before.  
  
“None on earth have known love like this.”  Jackson’s not sure who he’s speaking to or  why he’s spoken the words but they seem to be the right ones and Isaac buries his face in the crook of his neck.  
  
“I would be proud to be your mate, my peacock.”  
  
“And I, to be yours.”  
  
 **Epilogue**  
  
Derek is very close to tearing out his hair, and Stiles is loving every single, chaotic moment of his misery. The entire castle has been turned on its head with the arrival of three very important guests that morning. Derek nearly crushes Isaac in a hug when they first dismount from the carriage. Jackson, guest but hardly important, had watched in disapproval as he did, plainsman clothing nearly as foreign as the ring around his left finger.  
  
Their final two guests share Jackson’s penchant for trouble. Alec and Tristan are the most spirited cubs Derek has ever seen; blonde with sweet brown eyes.  So far, they’ve gotten into the flowerbeds, dumped flour on the floors and taken paints to Derek’s notes. They’re also prone to disposing of their nappies and wetting the floors; and Derek is always the one to slip in it.  
  
Worse, Eloise, his perfect little angel, seems to enjoy the rambunctious behavior of the one year old cubs and strives to match them, even though she’s just barely began walking at nine months. Stiles says it’s hero worship.  
  
Despite the chaos, Derek can’t find it within himself to be truly annoyed. Eloise has always gotten away with misbehaving, and that tolerance now extends to Isaac’s cubs.

It’s wonderful to have Isaac back for the winter solstice, even greater to see how happy he is. The past fortnight has been spent similarly to this night.  
  
Festivities done for the day, Derek and Stiles have joined Isaac in his old quarters with all three cubs in tow. They’ve been there for the past hour, laughing and reminiscing while eating sweets that remained  from dinner.  
  
“I cannot believe I’ve gone so long without these,” Isaac muses aloud, turning another page of his grandfather’s book while pulling Alec’s curious hands away from the fragile paper. He smiles, and reads the title aloud. “ The Crane and the Peacock.”  
  
“And it would seem that I have arrived at the most opportune time.” Jackson swings the door open, snow still melting on his cloak and hair. His eyes fall on Derek. “It’s highly improper to be in a married omega’s chambers unsupervised.”  
  
“You really enjoy announcing that you’re married.” Stiles teases, “And he’s supervised, I’m right here.”  
  
Jackson ignores them both and swoops down to kiss Isaac. “Hello.”  
  
“Look who’s arrived,” Isaac lifts his cub up so he can balance his little feet on the tops of Isaac’s thighs. “Look at your Daddy.”  
  
Alec blows bubbles, looks decidedly unimpressed until he lifts his eyes and catches sight and scent of Jackson, than his small body goes rigid and he begins to pump his arms and legs in excitement.  
  
Isaac laughs and hands the squirming boy to him, “Yes, that’s Daddy, Alec, settle down.”  
  
On cue, Tristan, who had been docilely sitting on Derek’s lap with Eloise, begins to cry as well, the wooden soldier that had been clenched in his chubby fist dropping to the ground.  
  
“I can never understand why they’re so taken with you.” Derek sets him on the floor and Tristan toddles over to clutch Jackson’s boot. His words are without heat. He and Jackson have come to a truce, the past firmly behind them. “How’s Emily?”  
  
“I set the broken bone,” Jackson bends down to lift Tristan as well, “She’ll be fine. Are your men going to repair the bridge? If not, fence it off so another doesn’t fall prey to it. It‘s dangerous.”  
  
“I’ve already sent Miles to block it off.” Stiles says, “As soon as you left.”  
  
“And what about you, Tris?” Jackson says to him and Alec grabs at his nose. “Have you been good for your Papa?”  
  
“No.” Alec replies and everyone laughs.  
  
“Little hellion.” Jackson grins, “Takes after Isaac, obviously.”  
  
“I was just remarking on how much they favor your temperament.” Derek hides a smile when Jackson glowers, “ Not like our Ellie.”  
  
“You’re just put out that I bested you on the first try; two alpha boys to your beta girl.”  
  
“Hey!” Stiles yells, indignant, but he’s laughing.  
  
“I’m choosing to ignore that comment.” Isaac frowns at him and Jackson loses some of the wind in his sails, “Stiles and I are not brood mares to measure your prowess.”  
  
“Of course not, my love. ” Jackson placates with a kiss and just as Isaac melts against him adds, “But if you were, I won.”  
  
 ***Derek***  
  
Derek’s nearly asleep when the noises wake him.  
  
As soon as Derek leans over her cradle, her crying stops and Eloise goes still, mouth opening up in a yawn. There aren’t even tears in her eyes.  
  
“You little liar,” Derek picks her up any way, carefully supporting her little back as he settles her against his shoulder. Eloise cuddles against his, fuzzy cap of dark hair tickling his skin. “You can sleep with us.”  
  
“Derek,” Stiles grumbles when he returns to bed with her,  Cloud barking up a question at his heels. “You have no discipline.”  
  
“Sleep; I’ll stay awake.”  
  
“The nursemaid says she should sleep in her cradle.”  
  
“The nursemaid should mind her own affairs.” Derek replies  sourly before he lays Eloise between them. “She only wants a little  attention.”  
  
Eloise gurgles up at him, blowing milk bubbles as her limbs flail periodically at the  side of her rose nightdress.  Her theatrics make Stiles laugh, and Derek is mesmerized by all that this little being does.  
  
“Ellie.” Stiles turns on his side, lifting her to sit on her bottom. “Is that true? Are you trying to get your Father’s attention?”  
  
“She doesn’t need to try.”  
  
“She has you wrapped around her little finger.” Stiles transfers their cub to Derek’s lap. “You need to build up a resistance to her puppy eyes.”  
  
“She has your eyes, “ Derek reminds him. “I can never say no to them.”  
  
“Yet you say no to me constantly!”  
  
“Yes but your sass makes you far less endearing.” Stiles sticks out his tongue. And Derek lifts a brow. “And your maturity never ceases to amaze.”  
  
Impatient at being ignored, Ellie makes a noise before she smacks her little hand against Derek’s mouth, giggling when he pretends to bite her fingers.  
  
Derek looks up to find Stiles watching him with flushed cheeks, eyes a glassy hazel. “What is it?”  
  
“Nothing,” Stiles smiles tenderly. “I love the way you are with her. I’d always dreamt of this, yearned to have this someday.”  
  
“You do have this; us.” Derek kisses Stiles, draws him beneath the arm not holding Ellie. Their daughter hums in delight and reaches for Stiles’ shirt ties to play with. “I love you.”  
  
“And I love you, Derek Hale, have since I was eight years old.”  
  
Derek recalls the childish script of the journal, smiles, “I know.”  
  
“Do you now?”  
  
“You’re always sayin’.”  
  
“And I love you enough to best Jackson at his own game.”  
  
That gets Derek’s attention. “What are you saying?”  
  
Stiles bites back a smile, “ Listen, what do you hear?”  
  
Derek’s never gotten used to the happiness, no matter how long or enduring.  
  
Four heart beats.  



End file.
